


Say it out loud, love

by pineneedlepants



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Beta Derek, Derek Hale & Jordan Parrish Friendship, Derek has PTSD, Getting Back Together, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Miscommunication, Painful Pregnancy, Pregnant Derek Hale, Sad Derek, Scott tries hard to be a good friend, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Sheriff Stilinski is a supportive dad, Stiles is not a bad person, Therapy, Unplanned Pregnancy, and fails spectacularly, fear of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineneedlepants/pseuds/pineneedlepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek first finds out, it's a rainy thursday that reflects his mood perfectly. He's been oddly dizzy lately, with bouts of nausea that don't make any sense to him, and he's pretty sure he's never slept as much as he is now, not even as a carefree teenager. He thumps his forehead gently against the table top, willing the water he drank not five minutes ago to stay down. He's rubbing his head on the wooden surface when he hears it.</p><p>There's a soft <em>thump thu-thump</em> coming from somewhere near him. He lifts his head slowly, as not to make the world spin and tries to concentrate where the soft beat is coming from. Because it couldn't possibly be - </p><p>Derek cannot be -</p><p>With growing horror, he directs his eyes downwards, to his slightly softened belly. His hands have stilled on his skin, trembling lightly. The soft <em>thump thu-thump</em> comes again, and again, and again, the sound getting louder with each soft flutter, until the pulse matches Derek's own. It's almost mesmerizing, a beautiful cadence that flutters in and out of rhythm of Derek's own heartbeat.<br/>--</p><p>Or the one where there's a misunderstanding of the century, a little angst, a surprise baby and a deliriously happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Derek first finds out, it's a rainy thursday that reflects his mood perfectly. He's been oddly dizzy lately, with bouts of nausea that don't make any sense to him, and he's pretty sure he's never slept as much as he is now, not even when he was a carefree teenager. His hands have been shaking while hugging the cool porcelain, cold sweat gathering against his forehead while he throws up, again and again.

He thought he might've been in contact with some wolfsbane, but the only places he's been visiting are the grocery store and his own new house.

His very recently purchased house, getting his first furniture in just shy of two weeks ago. The building had been owned by a very timid, though angry old lady that died with nobody attending her funeral, leaving her house to the state. Buying it when it was for sale had been the cheapest purchase he's had in awhile. Not counting bare minimum of stuff that's essential to survival. A small two-story house with three bedrooms upstairs with both a bathroom and a separate toilet. The downstairs was mostly open space, the front door's entrance leading straight to living-room area that was separated from the kitchen by a bar table.

There was a small office at the back, just behind the stairs, and another shower room with a surprisingly small yet compact sauna. Derek had never been in one before, but after giving it a try, he's been indulging himself in the warm heat of the room more often than not, his muscles relaxing against the wooden interior.

The house itself is soft pastel mint green from the outside, yard fenced in with long thick evergreen shrubs that line both the back and front. There is barely a spot for one car at the driveway next to the small tiled path from the black ornate gate, but he doesn't mind.

His head spins a little when he shifts his weight slightly, groaning in frustration. It was unnerving to be feeling like this, almost unheard of of a shifter being sick for so long. The first person he would've gone for answers for his sudden seemingly illness was Stiles.

Stiles who had changed his cellphone number when he went to college. After a year and a half together when Stiles decided to heal and take a gap year before enrolling to his new school. Had left with nothing more than a 'see you around, I guess' and a half wave before he had turned around and walked away without a second glance.

Goodbye, Derek decided, was an inadequate word when there was nothing good about someone leaving. Just another heartbreak, another person cutting the fragile strings Derek had somehow managed to wrap around their squirming heart. Then again, it wasn't even a proper goodbye. More like a half-assed 'had a good time, see you never'.

Never mind that words were never his strong suit anyway. They meant too many things, or nothing at all, and finding the right ones took time and effort others usually didn't have the patience to wait for.

It's not that Derek hadn't tried calling Stiles. To ask for them to at least try long distance. And if not a relationship, then at least some level friendship. Because Derek's bonds were tremulous at best, after Isaac leaving, Boyd and Erica dying, even the ever hateful Jackson skipping town and moving away. As if Stiles snapping a chunk of his heart with him wasn't enough, the dull ache of the cut pack-bond Derek had with him had not stopped throbbing painfully since.

All of those hard forged strings that bound them all together had snapped like a rubber band, the sound almost audible in the silence that permeated Derek's life. His heart shattering just a tiny bit more with each broken echo of his ex-betas, the scorn of which Scott always levels at his way, the way Isaac had chosen to leave for France with a hunter rather than stay with Derek at his cold loft.

God, that loft. So much death had been witnessed inside those gray walls. The red stain that Boyd's blood had been spilled on still rest there, uncleaned, a reminder.

Derek hadn't attended neither Erica's nor Boyd's funeral. Felt like he didn't deserve to. But he visited the same night, gathering the whole day the wolfsbane flowers that flourish on Laura's grave, woven each of the delicate bodies of the flowers together with care, resting the blossoming plant bracelets on their graves.

Didn't allow himself to cry, but mourned the loss of yet another family, rag-tag and makeshift as it was. But it had been _his_ , he'd chosen the teens, felt the connection and the contentment when all of them had mastered their controls and had actually enjoyed running around on full moons. Like he had had siblings again, people that he could let close.

And when Stiles had floundered into his life as broken as he was, touch-starved and lonely, how could he say no?

They'd spent many nights watching silly rom-coms, bingeing on tv-series and home-cooked food. Had allowed themselves to just be, no pressure, no expectations. And when Stiles had kissed him softly one night while they were both reading books, legs tangled together on the sofa, chests pressed close, something in Derek had finally exhaled after years of holding his breath.

Sex had been awkward. Derek's memories and nightmares from Kate as well as Jennifer made him vulnerable and full of unknown triggers that he hadn't realized he owned, and Stiles' inexperience with only having Malia in his life so far had not made them sex gods. But they learned, slowly and carefully. Limits and what was okay, what made the other loose their heads with lust and excitement, rather than fear and resentment.

And suddenly the year and a half was a short time, a blink of an eye that went by in a flash. Stiles had grown more quiet in the last month, more subdued as the due date for his move across the country had dawned nearer. Didn't allow Derek's touch as much, patting him with a smile that was no doubt meant to be reassuring but never reached his eyes.

Derek had felt the way Stiles' gaze fell on him sometimes, when he thought Derek didn't see. How his eyes pierced his skin, almost accusatory in its blaze, but Derek didn't know why. Couldn't even begin to understand what had made Stiles draw his hand away when he tried to hold it, the way he sometimes kissed him like he wanted a fight, with force and bitterness that Derek couldn't figure out.

They had never defined their relationship, not with words or gestures. He never went to have any official dinners with the sheriff other than the occasional lunch with him, or a football game night, and Stiles at the diner. Their friends already knew who both of them were, and they didn't need to introduce themselves to each other. Stiles never held his hand outside the loft, barely acknowledged his existence if not inside their home. It's not that Derek didn't love Stiles, or that Stiles in turn didn't care for him, they just were vulnerable and not ready for the world yet.

Derek regrets that now.

The last night before Stiles left, Derek had clung to the younger man like he would disappear from his arms, vanish into thin air. Stiles had held him, taken him almost reverently, caressing every part of him and Derek had almost choked on the grief and knowledge that Stiles was about to leave and perhaps never come back.

If he had had the words, Derek would have written a whole series of books on how he wanted Stiles to stay, to love him and hold him like Derek loved and held him. He wanted a future with the young man, wanted a house, a couple kids and a dog, both doing steady jobs maybe. Or perhaps one of them would stay in as a home-dad. He craved for balance and security, the pillar that would hold him afloat when the storm was about to drag him away, drown him in its murky depths.

God, he wanted to bicker about changing his Camaro into a family car, to fight over who has to take the kids to the school. Have quiet nights cuddling on the sofa with the person he loved the most, to celebrate birthdays with actual joy of living instead of resenting to still be alive when nobody else was.

Stiles didn't cry that night, Derek feeling the detached way Stiles gave him hollow smiles and even colder hugs. Like he knew the end was coming but didn't care to try stop it, or didn't want to. College was a good place to experience the world, take on new people and relationships, to find a world that had so far been narrowed to the confines of his small home town.

And Derek understood that. Playing the field or whatever. Staying committed to a werewolf that had serious mental health issues like barely manageable PTSD had probably never been on top of Stiles' list of things he wanted from his future.

So Stiles didn't cry, not at least in front of Derek, but gave the last of his affection, the devotion he had shown the last eighteen months slowly flooding out with every touch and fumble of fingers, but never renewing itself in Stiles' heart like it used to. But even though the young human didn't shed a tear, Derek, after Stiles had fallen asleep, had gently risen from the bed so not to wake the man, and escaped to the downstairs bathroom of his loft.

Collapsed against the tub, his skin in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill of the night. Had sobbed his heart out half of the night. The cool of the tile making him wrap his arms around his torso while he sat there on the cold floor, heart breaking into millions of pieces.

He didn't know how to even start collecting the sharp shards, didn't feel like he even should.

And when the morning came, the large windows making the sunlight pool in the huge living room, Derek dragged himself up, forced himself to put on clothes and walked to the kitchen and made breakfast. Pressed his mouth into a bitter line before starting the coffee maker and prepared it like Stiles likes it. Made bacon and eggs because Stiles had once told him that it was the best way to start a day, that, and a kiss.

Ignored the growing ache in his chest with vigor.

Though when Stiles finally emerged from upstairs, carefully with a blank expression, they didn't share a kiss. Didn't hug, like was their usual routine. Derek had leaned against the counter top, arms wrapped around his stomach, trying to not say anything he would regret, tried not to show his desperation of letting the man he loved the most leave. Stiles ate in silence, gave a quiet thanks while gathering his things, and finally left through the door into the bright day that had everything blossoming with greens and reds, colours filling the streets, though oddly muffled to Derek now.

And because Derek was weak and mostly broken, but so, so in love with Stiles, he twisted his hands together in an effort not to grab the closing door and run after the young man, desperately wishing it would be Stiles' reassuring hand in his instead of his own. Clenches his teeth together as not to shout after, pleas maybe. Apologies, if Stiles wanted ones. His claws rip the skin of his palms, tiny drops of blood dripping on the floor with light pitter patter, the sound deafening in the silence of the door closing and shutting the empty room in its echo.

His chest felt crushed, like it was caving in on him, heart stuttering to a stop before bursting alive again with painful rhythm. Unsteady in his feet, legs like leaden, heavy and motionless, he couldn't move. Scream stuck onto his lips that he couldn't push out, all voice disappearing from his throat. He'd stood there for a long time, the emotions splitting him in half, breaking quietly in the warm mid-morning.

And now it's been six weeks since Stiles had walked out without a backwards glance.

He's slumped against the cool surface of his kitchen table at six am, the drizzling rain outside hitting his windowsill, the sound almost numbing with its placid repetitiveness. He's been feeling nauseous again, sleep just a faraway wish. His stomach turning he groans softly, bringing hands to rub against the grumbling belly. He's lost weight recently, everything fatty or meaty making his mouth salivate with vomit, only able to eat fresh fruits and the occasional youghurt porridge. Wrist bones visible from under long sleeves, his hipbones a sharp contrast against the muscle that covers his front.

Mirror reflects acute cheekbones that curve against the hollow of his cheeks, mouth almost permanently glued to a frown. Stubble dark where his skin is light, almost sickly pale.

He thumps his forehead gently against the table top, willing the water he drank not five minutes ago to stay down. He's rubbing his head on the wooden surface when he hears it.

There's a soft _thump thu-thump_ coming from somewhere near him. He lifts his head slowly, as not to make the world spin and tries to concentrate where the soft beat is coming from. It's not the sound of a bass beat hitting along the music, nor patterned footsteps.

He gazes around the room, trying to pin-point the sound. The kitchen sink hasn't been leaking since he fixed it not two days ago, unwashed dishes piling on the metal counter. Slow buzz of the refrigerator a background hum he's used to ignore, the static of his old radio perched on top of the counter a familiar comfort.

Now that his hearing is focused on the gentle rhythm, he realizes it can't be a human, nor an animal, not near his vicinity. But there are no other alternatives, he's not holding anything, the only living creatures the birds outside on the tree branch, the owl family nesting in his attic. The sound is so similar to a heartbeat that it must be -

It can't be -

With growing horror, he directs his eyes downwards, to his newly, though just slightly, softened belly. His hands have stilled on his skin, trembling lightly. _The soft thump thu-thump_ comes again, and again, and again, the sound getting louder with each soft flutter, until the pulse matches Derek's own.

It's almost mesmerizing, a beautiful cadence that flutters in and out of rhythm of Derek's own heartbeat. He can't tear his eyes away from his bare navel that peeks from under his sleep shirt. The overhead lamp is not on, the only light a pale shiver of the rain clouded sun that's hidden behind the thick overcast. His skin feels like it's almost glowing in stark contrast with the dark blue fabric, hands resuming the gentle rubbing.

He has to close his eyes, tears threatening to spill on his cheeks.

He'd heard stories when he was a cub. About young weres that could become pregnant if their partner was a magical alpha personality, the status of the wolf not mattering. An omega could become pregnant just as much as an alpha. There had to be a bond from the shifter to the magically bound partner, a carefully woven thread that intertwined itself with the magic of the core of the pregnant were.

He hadn't realized -

He hadn't known. That it had been a possibility. Surely his life wouldn't be as cruel as to give him a tiny little cub to grow in his belly, for him to become a protector of his own child. He felt but a child himself, lost and packless with no clue how to continue on living.

He himself didn't think he'd even want to live anymore. It seemed that the forces that guided his life had other ideas than him losing the stubborn will to live. Though that, he was working through with his therapists. The feeling of worthlessness and inadequacy that shackled his self-esteem, locked on to a huge rock, ready to be plumbed into a deep water for him to drown in.

It had been awhile since his last appointment. The mood-diary he was made to keep has been filled with colours each day, though since Stiles left, most of his days had been painted dark red, sometimes with his own blood.

How was he to take care of a child when he could barely take care of himself? Wasn't sure how to go on about raising a cub, if it even was a werewolf to begin with.

He had a house, sure, but usually wolf cubs were born in packs that could protect both the mother and the children from all the threats that loomed above them. Omega werewolves had statistically the most miscarriages or stillborns. Cubs couldn't survive in harsh environments, let alone if the shifter was on run from hunters or other packs. If the partner of the mother that was to care for the cubs -

A _partner_.

Jesus.

Stiles. Stiles was his unborn child's father and Derek couldn't even contact the man. After Stiles had changed his cellphone with removing himself from their relationship and from Beacon Hills, Derek had even tried contacting Scott.

The young alpha had all but spit on Derek, spouting threats and profanities about people who take advantage and disgusting life-ruining bastards. Derek hadn't even tried the older Stilinski after that. Didn't know what Stiles had told everyone about their break-up, if he could even call it that.

God, the uncertainty of where he stood ate him every night. He didn't know why Stiles had wanted to cut all contact with him to the point that he didn't want to hear anything from Derek, nor speak to him. At all.

But now. Now he seemed like one of those desperate people that try to keep their unwilling partners with them by manipulating, by forcing Stiles to interact with him because Derek was pregnant with an honest-to-God _child_.

The thought of forcing Stiles to do anything he wasn't willing to do sent him running to the closest toilet bowl to retch the little his stomach had contained, into the water. Coughing and gagging the disgusting stomach acid, he clung to the cool porcelain for dear life.

The tears that had been almost spilling from his eyes from the earlier reveal, now flowed freely down his face but this time with misery and pain that ached both in his chest and his stomach, though little to do with each other. Or perhaps all to do with each other.

Lonely, in pain and terrified, Derek stayed on the bathroom floor for what felt like an eternity, contemplating about what the future had to hold for him.

Hoping that if not him, then that at least his child would get a chance at happiness like they deserved. He took comfort at the tiny heartbeat under his hands, sobs wrenching themselves from his throat as he prayed every God and deity to give his cub a happy, safe future filled with love and kindness.

Wished for a hand that wouldn't strike back at him, for touches that wouldn't turn into sharp nails viciously tearing his skin.

  
\---

The afternoon brought more rain, and with it a heavy stillness in the air that held a promise of a thunder.

Derek had, for the most part, transferred from the toilet floor to the soft plush sofa that reclined against the living room window. He'd downed a banana earlier, keeping it in his stomach with sheer force of will. He'd found a small bucket from the attic where he had stowed most of the things he had no immediate use for, and taken it down next to him.

He's still feeling slightly dizzy, but the fruit had given him just a little bit energy, and he'd been napping on and off for the past few hours. He thinks about putting on Netflix and watching Parks and Rec, but the memory of Stiles sitting nearly in his lap, watching the show avidly and laughing along with it made him immediately change his mind.

The young man had been the one to buy him the damn thing, and made his account as 'Grumpy eyebrows' and ever since discovering Derek's fierce love for the podcast 'Welcome to Night Vale', he'd made the password ' _HaleGl0wCl0ud_ ' and Derek couldn't change it.

It hurt. But sometimes, he thinks, he needs to feel the hurt. To know he's not as numb and heartless as he pretends to be. Builds his walls up and feigns being emotionless shell even though he feels everything so _goddamn_ deeply.

The good thing about his house is that it resides at the very end of the block of the mostly suburban area. Sure, the road stops in front of his lawn and most people have to do a u-turn with sometimes grazing his shrub fence, but that's because from his backyard the preserve starts and stretches wide.

That's how he knows someone is coming to visit him from the way the car that's rumbling alongside the asphalt doesn't stop three house plots earlier where the last house is inhabited. There lives a recluse woman which Derek is sure would've made great friends with the madam that died in his newly bought house, both bitter old widows.

He tenses when the car stops and parks, listening carefully at the person approaching his front door. He's half way up from the sofa when he recognizes the heartbeat and immediately relaxes. He's feeling a little better, hungry in a way he hasn't felt in a couple of weeks, and thinks he could possibly be up for a cup of coffee.

He strides to the door and opens it before the person behind it can knock.

Jordan Parrish gives a wide smile when Derek rests his eyes on him, and greets him with a cheery, ''Hey!''

The man is soaking wet. Somewhere in the hours he was unconscious the light drizzle has turned into a full down pour. His front yard is trying to form a little pond on the hole he's been digging for an apple tree he wanted to plant.

He just hasn't managed to visit the Green House that's up the high way towards Beacon Heights. If the people there are anything like the towns folk of Beacon Hills, they were a gossipy group of mostly old retired lumps of bone and surely the rumors of the sheriff's kid of the neighboring town having a big gay break-up had reached their ears as well. He had gotten enough scorn from strangers to last a lifetime. 

Jordan lifts a cardboard cup holder with two steaming drinks in it as an offering of sorts, and Derek moves aside and let's the man in. He gives a little late, ''Hi,'' back to the phoenix occupying his entrance, but the man doesn't seem to notice.

Or more likely, he's learned to read Derek's facial expressions and grunts. So he's a man of few words. It doesn't seem to bother anyone much, and when they really want answers from him, they know to wait.

Jordan shakes the tiny little water dribbles off, his hair damp. He grabs a towel from the tiny wooden chest resting on the floor near the front door, familiar with Derek's space. It makes something in his heart warm a little, at the thought of having at least one friend left in this town that never loved him anyway.

''I bought you some of that disgusting caramel latte with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Seriously,'' the man turns his pointed look towards Derek, ''You'll get heart problems and possible low level diabetes if you don't lessen your sweets intake.''

Sitting back on the sofa across from where the phoenix has settled, Derek shrugs easily. ''I mostly indulge on coffee with that. You know my diet otherwise.''

Jordan grins brightly. ''Yes, your killer runs that make a lesser man crawl the last kilometers back to start. And your veggie smoothies, blergh.''

Taking the cup with his name on it, Derek gives a barely there smile. Jordan's own smile dims a little and Derek can smell the way his scent turns darker with worry, the way his brows pinch together. ''Hey. Are you alright? You look like you're two seconds away from keeling on the floor.''

Derek freezes. He's aware of his condition himself, but barely adjusted his worldview into the scale that means he's about to become a father in the next eight or so months. He didn't remember how pregnancies usually went, even if he has witnessed a dozen of them in his teenage years. Problem is, he never took notice of them, information like that not crucial for him at that time. Nor appealing.

Now though. It's been barely five hours since he learned of the existence of his child but he knows he's going to love them unconditionally no matter what. Telling Parrish of this new development however. . .

Derek wasn't dumb by any means. He knew Jordan was very good friends with the sheriff, and if Jordan let it slip that Derek was pregnant. . . Well. John Stilinski is a smart man. It wouldn't take him long to put one and one together and realize just who the other father was.

But then again, Jordan was his friend. His only support network he had. If something happened, if he needed anything or was in trouble, he'd love nothing more than to have someone to call to.

Hardening his resolve, he shakes his head and turns to look at the phoenix. Realizing he's been quiet too long absorbed in his own mind, Parrish has actually come sit next to him, their knees almost touching.

''Derek. What's wrong?''

He heaves a sigh. ''I'm - Jesus, you'll probably never believe me.''

Jordan gives a snort. ''Trust me. I believed in Princess Leia to save the day and look where that got me. So spill.''

Deciding to just get it over with, he blurts, ''I think I'm pregnant.''

Jordan's smile freezes in place. There's a few second prolonged silence until the phoenix's eyes go wide and he hastily stands up with a, '' _What_?''

''I said that I think I'm pregnant.'' The words feel better when he says them again, mulling them over in his mind. He really truly is, and it's starting to properly sink in.

''I'm pregnant.'' He repeats, and decides, despite the miserable circumstances that led to him here, he likes the words. The only thing that is missing is the huge Stiles-shaped hole that's cracked his heart.

''You're pregnant.'' Jordan says flatly, and then gives a faint ' _oh my god_ ' and sinks back to the sofa. ''What. How? When? No, wait, give me the who.''

Before he has time to actually say it, Jordan's heart jumps up in frenzy. ''It's Stiles' isn't it. Oh my God, Stiles is gonna have a kid.''

Derek nods. ''It is.'' He says quietly. ''But I only figured it out this morning. You're the only one who knows and I'd prefer if it stayed that way.''

Jordan is nodding his head, ''Yes, yeah that sounds - Wait, what?''

Sighing deeply, Derek says, ''I want this to stay between you and me. Not even the sheriff can hear about this. Definitely not Scott or Stiles. Not yet, at least. I need to come to terms with the idea myself, first.''

Understanding dawning in Parrish's eyes, he says, ''This is about the bad break-up right? Scott told me all about it.''

Glancing sharply at the man, Derek balls his hands into fists, ''And what exactly did Scott tell you?''

Frowning, the man explains, ''Scott saw you sitting in a cafe with a young woman. Said you two held hands and you laughed while blushing, and the strange woman caressed your cheek. That you were cheating on Stiles with her and - ''

''Wait, _back_ the _fuck_ up. What fucking woman? I haven't cheated on Stiles. I would _never_ do that. _What the fuck_.''

Growing a little uncomfortable, Jordan shrugs. ''I don't know. He just said he saw you guys and that you hugged, and she left with a huge smile on her face. He immediately told Stiles I heard, and that John heard pretty much the same night. I had to talk him down from coming to shoot you then and there.''

His mind reeling, Derek closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. He has to take a few deep breaths before he gets his throat unclogged from the painful lump that formed there. He says, ''That was one of my therapists, Elina. Her and her mother are both working with me to help me manage my PTSD, anxiety and clinical depression.''

Jordan is gaping, his scent going from uncomfortable to horrified in one point seven seconds flat. He starts to say something but Derek is already continuing, ''Dr. Daniela Lahti is my main therapist, but she's thinking about retiring and has introduced me to her daughter to one day take her place. The day Scott saw us was one of our hands-on experiments, where Dr. Daniela was supposed to observe me in a busy area full of people, to identify possible triggers and my progress in the past year. She got sick with bad case of stomach flu and Elina took her place.

''When Scott mentions blushing, and hand holding, it was because Elina was praising me for my great progress of not flinching at every sudden movement and for getting myself relaxed, at least for a little bit. I'm not used to anyone saying or doing anything kind to me, and I felt a little ashamed, but also a little proud. She was touching my hand to help me stay grounded.''

His voice has gone hoarse with the feeling that when he'd finally managed to do something worthy of being proud of, he'd managed to royally fuck that up too. ''She hugged me because there were few women there that made uncomfortable comments about me and were talking about approaching me. I told this to Elina, and she helped me out because she's my goddamn _therapist_ and that's her goddamn _job_.''

The silence that descends is an uncomfortable one. Jordan has frozen stock still, myriad of emotions running through his face. Derek feels like he's run through a marathon, like he's completely wrung out of emotions. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest, the tiny flutter of the cub following it, almost in a soothing manner.

''So. . .'' Jordan starts, hesitant when he usually isn't, ''You and Stiles broke up because Scott had a wrong impression and thought you were cheating on Stiles, but in reality you were trying to heal yourself with a professional that's equipped to do it.''

He nods wordlessly.

''Why, um, why didn't you and Stiles just talk it out?''

And that's the question, isn't it. But how could Derek clear the misunderstanding when he had no idea that there was one. Stiles never said anything, just kept distancing himself further and further. The last time Derek had visited a grocery store, the cashier there glared at him and muttered a quiet 'home wrecker', probably thinking that Derek wouldn't hear. Half of the town had given him nasty looks ever since he and Stiles broke up, and he didn't know what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder.

Until now. Of course. Stiles was loved by many, John taking him to work with him when Stiles had been young and his mother in the hospital. He knew most of the people by name when to Derek they all were just blurry faced strangers.

''I didn't know.'' He says. ''Stiles never said anything. Just took distance, and then just gathered his things and left. No goodbye, no explanation. Just. Leaving and cutting all contact with me.''

He rubs his hand against his face. This is not what he'd expected. Had Stiles truly been thinking that Derek was cheating on him? Why not say anything? Why, why, _why_.

He had so many questions and the biggest one glaring at him on the top. Derek had learned to finally trust someone and lean on them, and he thought Stiles was having similar feelings. He'd told Derek about the Nogitsune and his nightmares. They'd slept together, when Derek hadn't even let Cora curl up with him during nighttime. Never mind having sex with the young man when everything sexual had repulsed him after everything he'd gone through, but Stiles had taken down all the reservations, all the horrible things done to his body and let Derek guide him through safe waters.

''Jesus.'' Jordan breathes, and then suddenly warm arms are wrapped around Derek, the reassuring bulk of the phoenix pressed against his side.

''Jesus, Derek. That's - I feel like I should punch Stiles in the face. No wait, I should punch _Scott_ in the face, and then maybe knee Stiles in the balls.'' A pause. ''Though I'm not sure John would exactly take kindly to that but.'' He shrugs helplessly.

''That was majorly assholeish thing to do, from _both_ of them. And you've been staying here, alone, for the past six weeks, dodging all my phone calls and - ''

Derek buries his face in his hands. He feels so awful. There's bile threatening to rise to his throat and his eyes are damp. He fucking hates his life sometimes. Just wanting to be happy seems to be too much asked.

He shoots up from the couch, Jordan's arms falling off before he's dashing towards the toilet and retching out the banana and water. Cold sweat gathering against his brow as he spits and gags, body trembling with the effort of tightening and loosening his muscles.

Jordan comes from behind him quietly, though Derek doesn't pay him much mind. The dizziness had returned tenfold, the world tilting from its axle a little too much to be pleasant. The phoenix starts rubbing slow circles on Derek's back, helping a little to rectify his stance.

''It's alright. You're okay.''

But he's not. Not really. He feels too big for his skin, feels unsafe and adrift, lost and helpless like a child. He's terrified beyond measure, fear gripping at every inch of his body, wrapping around his bones, clawing permanent spots like a weed at a grassy lawn. He spits, and then rests his cheek against the toilet lid, exhausted.

He opens his eyes to stare right in Jordan's face, the pale green eyes scanning his face anxiously. ''You need to see a doctor.''

He closes his eyes again and gives a tiny shudder. Shakes his head.

''Yes, you should. How do you know you're pregnant?''

Mumbling the answer, he leans slightly against the hand still resting against his back, ''I can hear the heartbeat.''

''You can - Right, of course you can, the enhanced hearing and all. Do you, how far along are you?''

''Can we -'' Derek swallows, tries again. ''Can we take this conversation somewhere else?''

Jordan helps him up, supporting his weight when his legs start to buckle. He flushes the remnants of his vomit away, bracing his weight against him when Derek washed his hands. He does so wordlessly, but his scent gives him away. It's clouded with worry and anxiety, and tiny bit of warmth that's inherently Phoenix. With the man's help, Derek's able to get back to the sofa, reclining on it tiredly, while Jordan brings the forgotten bucket near his head. He sits against Derek's hip, giving him the small point of contact, and he's never been so grateful for a friend in his life.

''Alright buddy. My lunch time is nearly over. But right after I get off from work, I'm going to get you to see Melissa. Alright?''

''No,'' he croaks, ''She's Scott's mother and half Stiles' too. She hates me, and I don't know if she'll reveal something - ''

''Derek.'' Jordan's tone is a lot more gentle now. ''Melissa has sworn professional secrecy. She's not allowed to tell anyone anything, and that's under the eye of the law. Plus,'' he nudges Derek's shoulder, ''She actually likes you, you know. You kept her son from killing himself and anyone else when they first got tangled into supernatural. She's thankful, is what she is. Let her help you. _Please_.''

Refusing to answer, Derek shifts on his side and gives Jordan his back. He's not ready for anyone else to hear about his cub. It's not safe. _He's_ not safe, his den is his alone and he has no protection from a pack. That doesn't mean he won't fight tooth and claw for his kid, but he wants them to be born under a happy, secured home. He shakes his head and voices his thoughts as such.

Jordan places a hand on his shoulder and consents, ''Alright. Those are all valid points. But we have to make sure the baby is okay. Just to be on the safe side. If not for you, then do it for your child.''

Damn Jordan and his way of knowing which buttons to push. He sighs heavily, still not thrilled with the idea. The phoenix heaves a sigh of his own.

''Okay, how about this. I get off work at five. You get until then to decide what you want to do, and then text me.'' He rises to his feet and even with his back towards the man, Derek can feel the hesitation.

''Just. Take care of yourself, alright? We'll fix this mess. Rest, gather your strength. I'll be in contact.''

With that, Jordan goes back to work, leaving Derek stare at the back of the sofa, nibbling at his thumb nail, mind indecisive. He darts a glance towards his belly. Bringing his hands down to cup it, he rubs at the invisible chub there that will in the coming months, grow in size until he probably can't even see his feet anymore.

It's going to be painful, a little frightening, but at the end of the day, he's going to have a child that is his flesh and blood running around the house and filling it with laughter and the pitter patter of small feet, and the thought of that has his heart squeezing warmly in his chest.

He's not going to be the last Hale after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski makes a much needed appearance, offering fatherly advice. And a few apologies.

After Jordan leaves, Derek takes time to mull things over. On one hand, he's really apprehensive on letting Melissa near him and his cub, but on the other hand, she's a medical professional and it would probably be safer to check that the baby is okay.

His life has suddenly turned from a horror movie to a prime-time soap opera. Derek lifts a middle finger up towards the innocent ceiling, hoping that the universe gets his _'fuck you_ ' and ceases to make him into its biggest joke of the century.

The fact that the cub is Stiles' makes his heart both ache and flutter. He's glad it is the spunky spark(pun intended), with a human father that runs with wolves the cub won't get a stronger role model. Apart from the sheriff, because Derek's sure the cub will end up hero worshiping the gun wielding officer. Or maybe John Stilinski will end up wrapped around the kid's finger and spoil them rotten.

That would be a pretty good alternative too.

And suddenly the happy thoughts drift to his own father, how he won't be here to guide Derek through this, to not be able to comfort and hold him while the child will go through it's growing pains and teenage anger. His mother and alpha not here to teach the pup control over its wolf, to howl at the moon and tumble around the preserve with affectionate exasperation when they break their arm or leg.

Thinking about all the nieces and nephews they'll never meet, all their rowdy cousins and cousins cousins that can't tell them where the best cookies are and which aunts and uncles to go ask for permission to do stupid stuff.

He's never missed his family as much as he does now, his fierce Laura, rough Cora, gentle Andrew and shy Cassidy. Aunt Olivia, Uncle Peter, Uncles Stephen and Rashid. And Noala, sweet and timid Noala that always baked the best Christmas cookies that were devoured within the minutes they were out of the oven.

The silence of his house hits him hard and he has to stagger carefully upstairs, stomach rolling dangerously as he flops on the bed, upset and miserable.

And what of Stiles and John? Would they help with the child? Or was the break-up between him and Stiles too severe to be fixed, was John now resenting him for allegedly cheating on his son and ask Derek to have an abortion?

He won't be able to. The tiny life he now holds in his hands is too precious for him to just cast aside, circumstances not withstanding. If the Stilinski's won't want to have anything to do with Derek and the child, that's fine. Or, no, it isn't fine, not on any scale Derek can make up, but he would muddle through.

He always muddles through.

Somehow, somewhere someone has ingrained into Derek's backbone that giving up isn't an option, even if all he would want to do is lay on the grass long enough that he'd just sleep away peacefully while stars were watching overhead. He gets pushed down and he gets up, every single time. Sometimes he has to help another person up with him, but that doesn't slow him down.

He gathers his blankets around him to form a protective cocoon of a nest. He sighs, heart lurching uncomfortably in his chest when he thinks how bleak and unsafe the future looks like, gathers his pillow and hugs it, letting the sleep wash away the exertion and the exhaustion that wrecks his brain.

 

 

Since he's bracing for it, Derek makes a few cups of coffee in advance, letting the cinnamon buns from the freezer to melt in the oven into tooth-rotting sweetness that has warm spicy smell permeating the kitchen.

He'd texted Jordan the go-ahead to ask for Melissa's assistance. But he told the phoenix that he needs to do the explanations himself so to not tell the nurse anything. Jordan had answered a bit miffed affirmative, but a yes is a yes so he takes it.

The down pour Jordan had brought with him earlier that afternoon had ceased into a light rain, but the air was still heavy with low clouds. If it wasn't going to thunder during the evening, it would most likely let loose during the night at latest. He wouldn't mind the natural weather currents but a thunder sometimes sounded a lot like flash bombs hunters usually used to blind werewolves into running into their traps, and Derek had experienced more than his fair share of them that the sound sometimes triggered him into an episode.

His coping mechanism was to count as many things as he could see, over and over again, to help his mind clear. He had always been exceptional at math, numbers a comforting routine that he easily adapted into his therapist assigned self-calm tactic.

  
He crossed his fingers that the thunder would at least wait until his visitors had left. Nothing more humiliating than getting stuck inside his own head and crawling underneath tight surfaces while having an audience. Stiles had seen him get triggered once. The young man had freaked out so bad he'd accidentally made things worse and Derek had ended up losing consciousness when he couldn't chuck in a breath, the thick scent of anxiousness swirling from Stiles and blocking the fresh air he desperately needed. It hadn't helped Stiles' worry at all, and he'd spent an entire week hovering behind Derek's back, refusing to leave the loft unless under dire circumstances, say, the sheriff being caught in the nearest doughnut place across the police station.

Giving a humorless chuckle at the memory, he reclines on the couch, waiting for the tell-tale signs of Jordan's own Prius to clamber on the road. He's starting to feel the numbness crawling in again, making it hard to concentrate on anything solid.

He's not sure how to break the news to Melissa, and if she can even help him at all, and it's making him shake with nerves. 

What feels like days though are mere hours that tick by through thick molasses, Derek finally hears Jordan parking at the curve of his house. He has no idea what the phoenix has said to Mrs. McCall to get her to come over, but the way the two are chatting in high spirits mean that the poor woman has no inklings as to what she's gonna have to face soon enough.

Derek goes to the door and opens it promptly as Jordan has poised his hand over in an attempt to knock. The deputy gives a reassuring smile and greets him.

''Hey. You alright?''

Derek nods and lets the two of them inside. ''Thank you for coming over,'' he says to Melissa quietly, and the nurse looks him up from head to toe with surprisingly concerned scrutiny.

''Hello, Derek. Thank you for inviting me.'' She sniffs delicately, before giving a beaming smile. ''Something smells delicious.''

Derek nods again and leads the two visitors to his kitchen. He's still feeling a little light-headed so he's trying to cover it up by slightly leaning against convenient surfaces in reaching distance.

He lets Jordan chit chat with Melissa for awhile when he pours their coffees and takes the buns from the oven. He has to stop for a moment when he realizes just what he's done, and how many pregnancy puns Stiles would've ripped from just that tiny action. The throbbing in his chest amplifies and he has to rub over the aching spot.

He serves the goods, pushing milk and sugar to the table in case either of the two guests want some in their coffee. He himself doesn't take a cup, but pours himself the last of his orange juice.

Settling on the other side of the table, the easy conversation halts to a stop. He looks up to two pairs of eyes that frown at him. Knowing what he looks like at the moment, he doesn't really blame them. Instead, he immediately steers the spotlight off of him and asks Melissa, ''How have you been holding up?''

He doesn't tack the 'after almost being murdered as sacrifices' at the end of the sentence but it's heavily implied. Since it's been awhile, almost a year since he's properly seen or talked to her, he's genuinely curious. Melissa takes her cues instantly.

''Doing okay, mostly. I think it's you kids that have it worse than we did. It's Scott and Stiles that I worry about the most.''

Jordan is bopping his head in agreement. ''That was some pretty horrible stuff that happened. How's Scott doing?''

Melissa relaxes. ''He's fine. I think college is doing him good, getting some fresh surroundings and people. It's weird being by myself in that big house but, unsurprisingly, kids have a tendency to grow up, so it was inevitable.''

''Speaking of kids. . .''

Narrowing his eyes at Jordan's blatant steer of the conversation, Derek rubs his empty glass anxiously. This doesn't go unnoticed by either Melissa nor Jordan. A warm hand reaches over the table and grasps his hand gently.

''Derek honey, are you alright?''

He can't lift his head to look at the nurse in the eyes but shrugs a little helplessly. Jordan seems to take pity on him though, and says, ''He's. . Having a bit of a rough time right now. And it's part of the reason I called you here. I wouldn't have done that if it wasn't an emergency.''

''What, I can't come over for just a social visit? What a party pooper you are, Deputy Parrish.''

That makes Derek's mouth give a ghost of a smile as Jordan grins broadly at the woman. ''What can I say Mrs. McCall. Your services are highly appreciated.''

''Flattery will take you everywhere.''

He can feel the sidelong glances directed at his way but he resolutely ignores them. The hand that's holding his hasn't let go, and then Melissa squeezes it gently, sobering. She directs her knowing look to peek at Derek's pale and hunching form. ''Derek, sweetie. Can you tell me what's wrong?''

He can feel his hands starting to shake, every instinct lighting up with ' _Danger! Protect cub! Don't reveal anything_!' and he has to clench his jaw from letting out a snarl. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to gaze at Melissa's deep brown ones.

''I think -'' he swallows. Tries again. ''I might- _I know_ \-- I'm pregnant.''

It's the same reaction again. Melissa freezes quite comically, exactly like Jordan had, and then lets out a gasp and covers her mouth. ''Male werewolves can get _pregnant_?''

There's a note of manic shrill in her voice, her hand involuntarily squeezing Derek's hand too tight. Jordan is still looking a little pale, even if he knew the facts already, but he masks it and brings up front his professionalism. Derek's sure the phoenix is imagining the birthing, or, where exactly from it will happen.

Jordan clears his throat uncomfortably. ''Can all male werewolves get pregnant? Is Scott in danger of suddenly getting knocked up? Wait, no, he's as straight as a stripper pole.'' He shifts, glancing quickly at Melissa. ''What are the facts here? Is there any legitimate information somewhere?''

Derek heaves a gush of air. Melissa lets his hand go and he brings both of his arms up and cards his fingers through his hair in agitation. Shakes his head. ''No. There's this tale I heard as a kid but I don't remember much of it.''

He tells them shortly of the myth, of a powerful magical being being able to convert their magic with the core of the wolf and create a way for the shifter to carry the child to term. If his voice is a little clipped, neither of the two take notice. They listen with fascination, clearly absorbing Derek's every word.

Once he's done and the kitchen his plummeted in silence, he clenches and un-clenches his fists. He's getting tired again, just being up an about, socializing has his battery running low and he fears he just might hibernate through his whole pregnancy if this is the way it's going to be.

''. . .So, what did you want me to actually do?'' Melissa finally says.

Exchanging quick glances with Jordan, the deputy offers, ''We thought you might be able to check if the baby is alright, and maybe give Derek some tips in what to expect when he's. . You know. Expecting.''

Melissa gives them a dismayed look. She carefully levels a look at the deputy, and then at Derek. Derek feels like covering behind the table if he wasn't so goddamn exhausted. She says, ''Okay. Alright. One. I'm not a certified OBGYN nurse. I don't really know how to check your child, never mind that I couldn't possibly even do that even if I knew _how_ , because I don't have any equipment.''

She sighs. ''Two,'' she lifts two fingers up, ''A magically appearing uterus aside, I can only give you tips based on my own pregnancy, but sweetheart, every pregnancy is different. You already look like you might tip off if a wind grazed you wrong. How far along are you?''

Derek flinches slightly at the hated pet name, but conceals it rather well. Ignoring the way Jordan perks up, Derek says, ''About six weeks. I think.''

Melissa's frown isn't exactly reassuring. The thick scent of worry starts wafting off of her and it makes Derek want to gag. He presses his teeth together and tries to endure.

''This is going to sound ludicrous but why don't you take this up with Deaton -''

'' _No_.'' The vehemence which he snarled his disagreement seems to only shock Derek. Melissa seems nonplussed and Jordan a little curious. ''No.'' He says again, this time quietly. ''If I can help it, that man won't even know my cub _exists_ until they're born.''

Melissa seems puzzled.

''Is there something wrong with Dr. Deaton? Scott always speaks kindly of the man.''

This time Derek doesn't suppress the ugly snarl. ''Deaton is a protector of equity. He isn't on anyone's side, and if Scott hasn't already realized that after all these years of the man manipulating him, then I can't say I think too highly of your son.''

Jordan cringes and tries to placate the riled up werewolf and avoid having Melissa McCall on the hunt. ''Hey now, Dr. Deaton isn't - ''

'' _You don't know shit._ '' Derek spits. ''Don't you understand? All these misunderstandings, these hard earned and cryptic answers Deaton gives everyone is because he only cares that the balance of whatever the fuck magical thing there is, is right. If the harmony is corrected by killing the Darach, he'll help. But if restoring the balance means _killing my child,_ he'll help people do that too. So _fuck_ Deaton and his crooked sense of justice.''

There's another ten second silence before the phoenix sighs, his tense posture slumping tiredly against the table. ''Jesus. This would've been great to know. Take Deaton's info with a grain of salt. Sometimes literally.''

Standing up to have something to do and to pace the tension underneath his skin away, he starts cleaning the dishes that are still embarrassingly piled up on the counter. His mood has been progressively worse lately and housework is pretty low on his list right now.

Melissa taps his finger against the table in an angry pattern. ''Is that why Stiles got possessed? Did Deaton know? Because if he did, I swear to God I will rip that man a new hide if he knowingly let Stiles go through all that trauma when we could've prevented it.''

Derek shrugs. ''I don't know the extension of Deaton's powers. He's said that he's part of some Druid Council and that he's some sort of head chef there but. . ''

He can't see but he hears Melissa rubbing her face wearily. Jordan seems to accept the defeated posture he has going on leaning against the table, head buried in his arms. ''Alright.'' The nurse concedes and Derek can feel her sharp eyes fixating on his back.

''No Deaton, not ever again if I can help it,'' she mutters and then raises her voice a little bit. ''But it would still be beneficial for you to get a check-up every now and then. Do you think someone might be in the knowledge of the supernatural and be working somewhere in California as an OBGYN?''

Derek shakes his head. ''You are the only medical professional I know.'' Jordan agrees incoherently with Derek, face still hidden.

''Well that's a bit of a problem. Obviously your pregnancy is high on the list of being a high risk since you've never owned a womb before, let alone that it actually doesn't belong in your body.''

Some sudden realization comes over her and she says, ''Who's actually the other father?''

Turning slowly, Derek levels her eyes with Melissa's. Even if he feels like escaping and digging himself in a hole to never be found again, he owes her to tell. He brings his hand to grip at his other arm, protectively shielding his front, not realizing how vulnerable it makes him appear.

''It's Stiles'.''

She doesn't even act shocked, just gives a brisk nod. ''Figured as much. You two were as thick as thieves until that - ''

''It was a huge misunderstanding!'' Jordan jumps hastily. He darts a quick glance at Derek and sees how upset the wolf still is about the whole thing, only knowing the full story for the past few hours.

Such a idiotic thing to happen, but mostly fits Derek's everyday life, so. The nurse furrows her brows. ''What was?''

Ignoring the dishes in favor of dropping down on one of the vacated stools, Derek clenches his jaw. He's still really hurt Stiles would believe Scott's word like that without even confronting Derek about it, but then again, Stiles and Scott have known each other since kindergarten. He should not get caught unawares at how much Stiles can inflict hurt by not even being in the same town. But he does. Every single time.

He fields the question. ''Scott saw me on a 'date','' he does the air quotes sarcastically, ''with a woman and told Stiles I was cheating on him. Stiles believed him and never asked me about it, just kept distancing himself further, until he left for college and cut off all contact with me.''

''. . Yes, the first part I had heard. I assume from the way you're phrasing things that that wasn't the case? With the, you know, fingers and all.''

He shakes his head in defeat. ''No. The woman I was out on a coffee was my therapist. I've been seeing one for awhile, and the office sometimes seems too stuffy, so we arrange meetings outside the clinic.''

This time Melissa does give a shocked gasp, the other hand immediately extending to reach out Derek's. He doesn't take it though, instead crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders. The nausea is acting up again and he really just wants to burrow into his covers and not deal with anything for a week.

''That overprotective idiot.'' Melissa murmurs, letting her hand drop on the table. She's on the verge of tears, but her eyes are determined. She goes to grab her purse while Jordan watches faintly amused, Derek glowering at the floor.

She comes back quickly and settles the phone on the table. ''You need to call John and clear this misunderstanding.''

Derek's head snaps up with lighting speed and would glare at the nurse if he suddenly didn't feel like a wave of orange juice was clawing itself up from his throat. He hastily scrambles from the chair to run across the hall to once again puke his guts up.

It just doesn't get easier, no matter how many times he vomits. In fact, he thinks he might see drops of blood mixed with the juice that bubbled up. He groans a huff of laughter, ''Tastes the same way going in as it does coming out.'' His mother used to say it a lot when she drank OJ during her pregnancy. She'd throw up a lot at first, but her body always calmed down after the first trimester.

He wants his mother. Wants his father, or Laura, even _uncle Peter_ sounds good right now. The older man might've been a pain in the ass and a little bit psychotic, but that blame should be all on Derek. Had he not naively trusted an older woman that turned out to be a hunter, his family might still be alive. Aunt Olivia was the only person in the whole wide world who's opinion Peter truly gave shit about, and the man had acted accordingly, his delighted grin huge on his face both when Olivia had said yes for the first time and then yes to the second time, in front of their whole clan.

Happy Peter was how he wanted to remember his uncle. Not the sad shell of what the fire had burned and left him with.

He clutched at the white porcelain, already familiar with it's coolness, having been acquainted with it more than enough within the past two weeks. A warm delicate hand came to rub at his shoulders, murmuring something Derek couldn't quite catch.

Trembling, he spits, fighting against the second wave of nausea. His own body feels foreign, like he's floating above his limp torso, not fully himself. He knows the signs of disassociating, and part of him is relieved that he gets to feel more numb than miserable. The warm hand continues the soothing circles, only pausing minutely before returning.

There's a soft murmur behind him, and then the strong pair of hands he knows to be Jordan's come to lift him up. The toilet is small, so Melissa retreats outside while the phoenix helps him out and back to the sofa, like he had earlier that day.

Derek goes placidly, trusting the man implicitly.

When he's settled safely against the plush pillows of the couch, he puts on mental effort to bring himself back just a little bit. It isn't the time to succumb into the emptiness, even if it takes a tremendous amount of energy to fight it.

He opens his eyes when Melissa places a cool paper towel against his forehead, wiping away the cold sweat. She gives a small smile.

''John is coming over in fifteen.'' At the panicked look he throws her, her gentle gaze turns a little sharper, more mom-like scolding. It makes him ache fiercely. Her voice, however, stays gentle and soothing.

''You know you have to tell him Derek. And to tell Stiles. This misunderstanding isn't about the two of you anymore. There's a small child with us in eight months that are going to be dependable on your care.''

He makes a small noise in the back of his throat and shuts his eyes tightly. There's nothing he can really say to that, the truth in every beat of her heartbeat.

The wait for the older Stilinski goes in silence. Melissa has parked herself next to Derek, smoothing his hair back and sometimes rubbing his arm. Jordan has, despite the worry that makes his scent go awry, decimated the whole plate of cinnamon rolls, munching on them while perched on the living room table. When Melissa eyes him for it, he just shrugs.

''I'm a stress eater. So sue me.''

After twenty minutes, Derek tenses when the familiar rumble of the Sheriff's cruiser rolls down the road. The old car is on the verge of finally coming off his hinges, if the concerning _'clonk clonk_ ' of the motor is anything to go by. He thinks of mentioning this to the older man but then cringes. He has no idea how to approach the subject of his pregnancy, commenting on the man's car and how it might be better to change the death trap to a new one might not be the way to do it.

Or maybe it would earn him some plus points. You never know with John.

There's a heavy but quick paced knock on the door and Jordan goes to open it. The sheriff is understandably soaked, the storm having kicked up a notch a while back. The phoenix lets him in and John gets rid of his boots and jacket, taking the offered towel and drying his hair quickly.

When he enters the room properly, Derek knows the man does quick calculations. His gaze starts from disapproving and changes to concerned as fast, taking in the way Melissa sits by Derek, noticing the werewolf's pale complexion.

''What's going on here?''

''Well,'' Jordan hedges, steering the man to the empty couch. ''There has been a slight misunderstanding.''

At Melissa's incredulous look, Jordan concedes. ''A real big fucking misunderstanding that could rival Romeo and Juliet.''

John's eyebrows have reached his hairline, so he directs his eyes to the person that might reveal things the best. Derek has a great habit of giving fantastic bullet points and is one of the biggest reasons John likes him so much.

But Derek is a little bit lost being faced with Stiles' father. He knows the other deputies, apart from Parrish, have given him the stink eye more often than not, pulling him over just for the fun of it. It used to be amusing, but after the break-up it had felt more like harassment than anything else.

So he ends up giving a helpless, ''Uhh. . . ''

It makes the sheriff sigh. ''Son,'' he says, and doesn't that hurt more than it should? The tone is more officer speaking to a suspect than John speaking to him as Stiles' boyfriend. Like all those nights spent at his house in comfortable silence watching television just the two of them, meant nothing.

''It would be in everyone's best interest if you could tell me why I'm here, and why you look like death has swarmed you over.''

There's a two second silence before the man groans. ''There are no strange hunters in town are there? Did you get hit by a bullet again? You really should start wearing a Kevlar vest, for all the times you've bled in either mine or Stiles' car, you would be doing a public service by protecting yourself better. Hell, I'll even give you one of the ones we have at the station.''

Jordan snorts. ''Sir, there's a little bit more going on than just strange hunters coming to town.'' A frown creases his face. ''There isn't any unidentified Argents within the county line, right?''

Derek shakes his head. Croaks, ''No hunters.''

Jordan nods, appeased. ''Good.''

John comes around the table to sit on the empty sofa across from Derek. Derek takes small comfort on the coffee table in the middle, a small protection in case the older Stilinski decides to do something drastic in light of the events.

''Then what's the matter?''

Deciding he needs to sit up for this, Derek dislocates Melissa's arm and hefts himself up. He grabs the armrest to balance himself carefully. The nurse murmurs, ''Easy there, honey.''

He sighs. Looks at the man sitting across from him. In the past year and a half, he and Derek used to sit down every Thursday evening for a baseball match, sharing space even if Stiles wasn't at home. John had become a person Derek knew he could trust, almost like another father. The scorn of which he faced in the ultimate aftermath of Stiles leaving, still made him hunch in on himself, craving for a comforting bear hug from the Stilinski, but knowing he wasn't welcome.

''I did not cheat on Stiles,'' he starts with. And then decides to just quickly lay it out as shortly as he can. ''When Scott told Stiles he had seen me on a date with a woman, he saw me having a coffee with my therapist while we had a session going.''

He stares at the small darkened spot on the wooden floor so he doesn't have to face whatever there's going on in the Sheriff's face. ''I've been seeing a therapist for the past year and she's thinking of retiring and started to introduce me to her daughter to take over her patients. I am one of them. A patient.

''I never said anything about it because I figured Stiles knew when he sometimes asked me after my appointment if it had gone well. Stiles himself never came to me about my alleged cheating, just started looking at me funny the past month before his departure. Nobody told me anything, until I started getting these hostile looks from cashiers and deputies and all around everyone in this town. And then Stiles left for college, cutting all contact with me.''

He clenches his jaw and braces himself. ''And apparently some of the myths that my mother told me as a pup are true. So I am p -''

He swallows and takes a deep breath. ''I'm pregnant. With Stiles' child.''

When Derek is going to look back on this ten years later, he's going to find it funny how everyone takes the news with a resounding silence. The sheriff doesn't let him down.

''Aw, hell.'' John murmurs, and rubs his mouth tiredly. ''You're sure? I didn't even know male pregnancy was something that happened outside transgender binary.''

''The second heartbeat was sort of a dead giveaway.''

''Kanimas I get, weird pixies and werewolves go, but a man to get pregnant? I don't think this can get any more ridiculous than this.'' He knocks wood. ''Scratch that, it can definitely get more odd in this town. Like we've suddenly been cursed with a year-round Halloween. Christ.''

Jordan gives a smooth smile. ''Take it easy sheriff. Don't get your heart in a twist. We can't have you getting a heart attack when we've done so much in effort to keep you eating your vegetables.''

The man gives Jordan a glare that lacks any heat. ''You watch your words, deputy. Desk duty for you if you say anything else discriminating towards your own boss.''

There's a sigh and then John turns back to Derek. ''You're absolutely one hundred percent you're pregnant? And,'' a look of a father thinking about his son's sex life crosses his face as he grimaces, ''You're certain that it's Stiles who has fathered this child?''

Derek clenches his jaw, hurt by the accusation. Like Derek would go out to fuck anyone and everyone within weeks of breaking up with the man he loves the most. It's not their fault for not knowing Derek's past sexual relationships or the way they've fucked him up, but the jab still hurts, unintentional or not.

''Yes.'' he murmurs, head low and resolutely not looking at anyone.

''And you're going to keep this baby, correct?''

A growl erupts from his throat and he snarls a 'yes', hiding his claws inside his fist. He won't give this child up no matter what. If Stiles wants nothing to do with them, that's on him, but Derek is going to have this pup, raise it and love it like a father should.

''Oh, Derek.'' The sheriff says and then he's up the couch and strode towards Derek, enveloping him into the bear hug he's been wanting ever since this mess started.

''I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry.''

He doesn't reciprocate, just lets his hands hang on his sides while the human squeezes him tightly. The apology makes him feel a little lighter though. He shuts his eyes tightly, tamping down the tears that are threatening to spill over his cheeks, the weeks long hurt clawing at his chest.

With one last squeeze, John lets go and instead grabs his shoulders, crouching in front of him to catch Derek's eyes. Derek tries to avoid the older man, but John just places his hand on his jaw and makes him look.

''Derek.''

He lifts his head a little and meets the man's gaze. ''We're gonna sort this out, you hear me?''

He looks away but John follows. ''No, son. Listen to me. We're going to make everything okay again, alright? I'll speak to Stiles. Make him come home for the weekend so you two can speak things over. He still loves you, you know. He was a wreck when he left.''

Derek fidgets with his hands and whispers, ''I was a wreck too, but no one cared about that, did they?''

A pained look crosses the Sheriff's face and he sighs. Jordan gives a forced light-hearted, ''Hey now. I made sure to not let John shoot you. I also called you multiple times -''

''Yes, deputy. We got it. You're a good friend.''

Jordan smiles at John's half-hearted glare. ''Damn right.''

John returns to Derek. ''I'm sorry things got a little out of hand here. For the way I've treated you, when you have done nothing wrong and didn't deserve it. I apologize for that, but I don't expect you to forgive me right away. Get your head sorted out, make me treat you to a meal or two. As for Stiles, well,'' John hedges, and then concedes, truthfully,  ''Nothing is set on stone so there's still time to fix things.'' His eyes dart down to Derek's stomach.

''Exactly. . How long?''

''I'm about six weeks now. Maybe.''

''You don't know?''

He shakes his head. ''I just found out this morning myself. And it's not like there's suddenly a supernatural enforced hospital that could accept a pregnant male in their curriculum.''

''How about - ''

''No Deaton!'' Melissa interrupts. At John's alarmed look, Melissa makes a face that hold a promise of future pain and ass-kicking towards the town's veterinarian. ''Absolutely no Deaton. I do not trust that man, and Derek doesn't either. I'd help but,'' she shrugs. ''I'm not specialized in pregnancies. And apparently I'm the only nurse they know so things might get a little difficult in the future.''

John frowns, but doesn't protest. ''If you say so.'' Then he rises up, the hands that fall off Derek's shoulders leaving cool spots on his skin as John walks to the kitchen table. He pockets out his phone and sends a text. Derek turns on the sofa so he can see in the kitchen, leaning his side against the back of the couch, hand reclining on top of the cushions.

A minute later the phone starts to ring and the sheriff answers it with a resigned sigh. ''Hey Stiles.''

_''Dad? What's going on? Is everything alright? Are you hurt -''_

''Stiles, son. Calm down. Everything's alright.''

_''Then what was up with that text? You can't just send something like that! I thought someone was dying!''_

The sheriff glances at Derek and then to Melissa who has taken a seat across him. Mulishly, Derek turns his gaze away. He still eavesdrops on the conversation, not even a little bit ashamed. Hearing Stiles' voice after six weeks of radio silence makes his heart flutter, tainted with the twinge of hurt.

Okay, an avalanche of hurt. But that's his own problem for still foolishly clinging onto the though that Stiles would always pick his side, be on his team when he needed it the most. See where that took him. a

And then the sadness and grief bloom back in his chest.

''Like I told you in the text, very clearly I might add, nobody is dying. Everyone is alive and healthy - Well. Almost healthy.''

_''What? Who isn't healthy? Is it Melissa? Do I need to go get Scott? Oh my God, I need to sit down -''_

John rolls his eyes. ''Melissa is fine. No need to go get Scott. Although I will have some strongly worded things I want to say to him later on.''

_''. . .Whelp. That doesn't sound ominous at all.''_

''Mieczyslaw.''

_''Whoah, no need for the birth name, dad. I'm listening.''_

The sheriff rubs his eyebrows tiredly. ''I have had some revelations today that will affect your future drastically, though not necessarily in a bad way. But I need you to come home for the weekend. Clear some things up, have a long chat with your old man.''

_''. . .Am I adopted?''_

''What? No. Of course not.''

_''Is there a long lost brother or sister there with you?''_

''Long-lost - What are you talking about?''

_''. . .Did you finally bang Parrish and now you adopted him and feel guilty about confessing over the phone? Because dad, I'm totally okay with you finding company or a date or something.''_

Derek chokes a laugh while John pinches the bridge of his nose. ''No Stiles. There's no banging or adopting anyone. Last I checked I was a very heterosexual man, and trust me, I know.''

_''Oh. So you banged Melissa then?''_

The older Stilinski gives a faint, ' _Jesus Christ_ ,' before continuing. ''No. No long lost siblings, banging, homosexual or otherwise, and no adopting anyone. This isn't even about me for goodness sake. This is _your_ life I'm trying to get on track and _your_ future that's gonna be affected. I'm on the sidelines until you need or ask for help or anything else along the lines.''

Stiles groans on the other line. _''That makes me so not wanna come down there. What's such a important conversation you gotta have with me face to face?''_

''Well you'll find out when you come, now won't you?''

Stiles grumbles, ' _'You've clearly spent too much time with Dr. Deaton with your cryptic-ass answers-''_

''Stiles!''

_''Whoops, swear jar.''_

''Just come down on Friday, alright? Do you need me to book the plane ticket for you?''

_''. . .Nah. I got it. Though I have a group project meeting at three so I'll probably touch down somewhere around eleven.''_

''Text me the info and I'll come pick you up.''

_''Thanks dad. Love you.''_

''Love you too, son. Travel safe. I'll see you tomorrow.''

_''Loveyoubye.''_

After John hangs up, Jordan says, ''Well, that went well.''

Debatable. Completely and utterly debatable. Stiles will have no idea what he's gonna have to face when he finally returns, and a small part of Derek, a tiny slot in his heart hopes that Stiles was as miserable as he has been the past two and a half months.

John rises up from the kitchen chair and waves Melissa up. Derek follows suit, with Jordan coming to support his weight. Derek doesn't think it's necessary, but Jordan likes to feel like he's helping, and God if Derek doesn't need all the help he can get right now.

''We're gonna leave for now. Derek, how would you like to do this? Do you want to come to my house or do you need to tell Stiles in your own. . . Den.''

''Um, here would be better.''

John nods. ''That's alright. I'll drop Stiles off at noon on Saturday. That work for you?''

Derek gives a weak snort. ''If Stiles is awake.''

''I will personally make sure the rascal is awake, and if I have to pour ice water on him then that's my civic duty as a dad.'' John gives him a reassuring smile. ''Stiles will shoulder the consequences. He's not exactly a grown-up, but neither are you, and you've both got some tough years ahead. Raising a child isn't easy, and neither of you have too big of a support network. If you can clean up this mess and stick together, it'll be a lot easier. For both of you.''

Derek nods. He'd loved his little siblings, nieces and nephews and cousins, but they were hard work and he was always a little grateful when he got some time alone, away from the house. Being a father means that he can't do that anymore, can't abandon the kid if everything becomes too overwhelming. He's gonna have to make it through by sheer force of will if nothing else. Having Stiles by his side would help tremendously, but if the human decided he didn't want Derek after all, he's not sure that either himself or the cub will live to term.

He has no clue what to expect from the pregnancy. He imagines it will be painful, his inner organs having to rearrange themselves to make room for the growing womb inside him. If the baby is a werewolf, their kicks might break a bone or two, remembering how Aunt Olivia had to stay at a hospital a couple times, her human body barely enduring the rough treatment.

''You. Make sure he eats something, at least get him ginger tea so something liquid will hydrate his body.''

Jordan salutes the sheriff easily. ''Aye aye sir.''

Derek looks faintly at the people in his entrance grabbing their jackets and getting ready to leave. At first his wolf had prowled and growled at the idea of people in his den, but now that they've been here and given him comfort and security, it whines seeing everyone go.

''I'll come check up on you tomorrow, okay? Eat something, even if it comes up. Or if you want, I can go home and grab an overnight bag, stay with you until Stiles comes?''

Having Jordan here would definitely make him feel more secure, so he nods. ''You can stay. I'll make you the guest bedroom ready.''

''It's cool. I'll grab something to eat while on the road. Preferences?''

Derek shakes his head. ''Nothing warm or heavily smelling. I'll throw up before I'll even manage to get anything in.''

''Gotcha. I'll see you in an hour, okay? Try not to die in my absence. It won't look good in my future wedding speech.''

With a wink and a gentle sideways hug, Jordan stretches to catch Melissa and John, grabbing Derek's spare key from the bowl. The closing door makes Derek huff a little, and he goes upstairs to immediately set up the guest bed. It hasn't been slept in since he bought it, and he hopes it's good.

Having John back in his life as a supportive adult, and the promise of Stiles coming back has a small spark of hope flaring in his chest. With that newly found vigor, he decides to change his own sheets to clean ones and load the washing machine.

Once again he can only be thankful for befriending Jordan Parrish. He's sure he's going to need the man's support all through his pregnancy and his life if the phoenix decides to stick around.

 Time will tell.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles lands in Beacon Hills and him and Derek have a long chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouraging words! Hope you enjoy this next piece.

The next day goes swiftly. Jordan, after coming back last night had brought Derek a subway meal that had stayed in his stomach until the early morning. The storm had stayed relatively quiet, wind howling occasionally in the tunnels of the attic. Thunder had growled, but stood dormant, ominous black clouds painting the sky.

He hopes that by Stiles' flight the weather would be cleared and safe.

The phoenix had made breakfast for both of them, but the smell of sizzling eggs had triggered his vomiting spree and Derek's been parked in the toilet ever since. Jordan had left for work with apologies falling from his lips, but Derek had just waved him off.

It's his own body that's fighting everything for the time being, and he could hardly fault his friend for eating before having a full day shift ahead of him. He's just thankful there still was something in his cabinets, not having bothered to go to the store to get anything.

He naps on and off the whole day, stomach cramping painfully until he has to do his breathing exercises to keep calm. He wants to call for an appointment with his therapist but doesn't want to leave his den, nor have the woman in his space, filling her scent with it. Skype sessions were an alternative when he started, but he hadn't had the program back then and hadn't ticked the box when signing the contract. Didn't know how he would even act in front of a camera.

But he feels like he needs to talk about it. About everything that's happened so far, to decompress all the negative as well as positive feelings he has towards it. So he forces himself to grab the phone and just dial.

_''Beacon Hills mental health and psychiatric clinic, how can I help you?''_

''Uh, hi. This is Derek Hale. I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Lahti.''

 _''Just a moment.''_ There's the distinct sound of clicking and the man says, _''Dr. Lahti seems to have an opening next wednesday at two o'clock. Would that suit you?''_

''Um, sure. Could, is there a possibility to make it a skype session? I'm unavailable to physically visit the office.''

_''Of course. It can still be the same time and date. Have you and Dr. Lahti agreed on e-mails and skype names? Or is this the first time?''_

''Uh, first time.''

_''Alright, I would need some basic information then. . .''_

Derek rattles his full name, date of birth and phone number, as well as his skype and email address. The man thanks him and gives him a rundown on the info, and when everything checks out, he thanks him and the man gives a cheerful 'goodbye' before hanging up.

He stares at the phone for a long time. He debates whether or not to try call Stiles, having his new number, courtesy of the sheriff, but then remembers that the man had talked something about a group project keeping him busy until late, so he doesn't. Instead he texts Jordan to bring him strawberries when he comes back from his shift.

They'd decided that the phoenix will stay with Derek until Saturday, leaving for his morning shift so Stiles and Derek will have some privacy when the sheriff will ultimately bring Stiles over. Then, depending on the outcome of the dreaded conversation, Stiles will either stay with Derek the weekend before going back to college, or that's what he's hoping anyway, or then the younger man is going to take a strategic retreat and leave the cub and Derek to their own devices.

The sheriff seems adamant that Stiles will surely meet him halfway and take responsibility of the baby. If there is a baby. Everyone else seems to have doubts, but Derek knows with one hundred percent certainty that he will become a father within the next seven to eight months.

When Jordan comes back in the evening, he has company. John seems still a little bit skeptical and wants to truly be sure the miracle of life is nestled in Derek's stomach. Though Derek can't be too annoyed, realizing that his kid will have at least one grandparent to watch them grow. Two, if Melissa is willing.

Though the topic of Scott is firmly pushed into the dark corners of his mind. He still hasn't mended the relationship with the true alpha, both angry at him for what he did to Stiles and all the times Scott brushed Derek off just to have it bite him in the ass.

Derek, not Scott. Somehow the younger man always seemed to evade the consequences and just bask in the glory of victory. It's not even that Scott would boast about defeating the enemy, or that he rubs Derek's failures in his face, but something about the way he's crude and scoffs at Derek's ideas like they couldn't possibly more beneath him, makes Derek grit his teeth.

Especially when Scott goes on to one of his rants about how he hates to be a werewolf. Derek wants to both run away and wring the teen's neck then, though mostly just settles back and focuses his hearing so intently on the surrounding sounds that most of the conversation will just flow past him.

So John, Jordan and Derek settle in the living room for the night. Derek clutching at his bucket in case of nausea, the sheriff and Jordan nursing cups of chamomile tea. They discuss mainly of work related things, but sometimes John gives Derek a look that conveys the older Stilinski's skepticism of the situation. It stings, but without physical evidence, which the sheriff is known to hold onto, the man has every right to not believe a word Derek's saying.

Right now, Derek's mostly. . . Tolerating the sheriff's presence. There are still things he feels he needs to hear from the older Stilinski, to have him admit how wrong it was to treat him the way everyone did. The man already apologized, but it felt rushed, like it was just a compulsory thing that the man felt he needed to say to diffuse the situation.

It hadn't been genuine, or not as genuine as Derek would've liked.

There's also something else in John's posture, in the looks he sends Derek's way every now and then. Like the wish to participate in the growth of the baby. He can see in the glint of John's eyes that there are things he wants to tell, probably some stories of Claudia being pregnant with Stiles and how to defeat the morning sickness.

Actually, the morning sickness seems to extent to being morning-, day-, evening- and night sickness.John had offered a few solutions, like ginger ale and lemon candies and peppermint tea. He had promised to take some with him the next time he stops by.

The rest of the time he just lets the two officers of law talk with each other, basking in the easy atmosphere. Since deeming both Jordan and John ok in wolf's standards, Derek hadn't minded them in his den. When John finally leaves, clock nearing twelve, he does so with a firm hug and a pat in the back.

''You stay out of trouble, you hear me son? Eat and rest and take care of our little. . Cub? Baby? Puppy?''

Derek snorts grudgingly at the slight hesitation and raised eyebrow. ''Cub is fine. Though they'll be born as human babies. There isn't even one hundred percent chance that it's a werewolf. It can also be human.''

''I see,'' John says, pleased. ''And if it is a werewolf? When will it start. . You know?''

''Shift? Around the age of four or five. Though the minute they are born, I can smell if it is a wolf. It has a distinct scent.''

John nods. ''All I want for it is to be born healthy and happy, and that you stay healthy. And happy.''

Ducking his head, he hides his blush. He nods. ''I hope so too.''

''Good man.'' John says, and steps down from the porch to his car and drives off. Jordan, having leaned on the wall next to the door, claps at Derek's shoulder. ''C'mon. Let's get you inside. It's starting to get chilly and you look like you could do with a cup of hot chocolate.''

Stomach turning at the idea, Derek shakes his head. ''No milk. Can't drink it.''

''Alrighty, then I'll get you that black currant tea you love so much.''

''Yeah okay.''

  
Jordan is observing him when Derek is playing with the rim of his teacup. At first he ignores the looks, but soon enough annoyance floods in and he'd bare his teeth if it wouldn't make him seem so childish. Instead he glares at the phoenix and grouches, ''What?''

The other man shakes his head. ''You look a little better.''

That makes the annoyance evaporate right away. He slumps a little. ''Yeah. I feel a lot better than I did last morning. Though,'' he adds, taking a pointed sip from the cup. ''Food still isn't a thing that stays down too long.''

''Yeah, but isn't that like, a norm for pregnant people? I don't really know.''

Derek shrugs. ''Me neither. I think Stiles could - '' he bites his lip. Jordan gives him a sympathetic look. He reaches out and takes Derek's hand.

''Look. I'm not sure how your break-up played out so badly and frankly, I'm a little appalled at both of you for not trying harder.'' He sees the pained look in Derek's face and gentles his tone. ''Mostly I'm furious with Scott and that's a feat in and on itself because I never in a billion years thought I could be mad at the guy.

''But, you lie as you make the bed. So you and Stiles got in to this mess and there is such an easy way to reconcile by just telling him the truth.''

He averts his gaze, leg jiggling a little. He knows that, but part of him that was so miserable the past six weeks, let alone the month when he had Stiles but not really, not anymore at that point, is still extremely hurt at the way things ended. Bitter.

Derek though that he could've married Stiles in the long run, if they could keep the relationship more than five years. Have kids.

They're doing things in the wrong order now. Children are never the fix for a broken marriage, let alone a budding relationship. But he really, truly wants to try this, because he is in love with the obnoxious, frustratingly smart man, and the thought of Stiles with their cub is ready to send his wolf in joyous howling.

''Yeah, I'll. . . I'll try. If he'll listen.''

''We'll make him listen. That isn't an option here Derek, I know it, and I know you know it too. This child is going to depend on you two for the rest of your lives. But,'' he adds, ''if you two really can't work things out, then forcing yourselves to be in a relationship will be worse than rising the kid in two separate homes. Just a thought.''

Nodding, Derek takes his hand and wraps both of them around his cup. ''I really want it to work. I mean, it isn't all happiness and domestic with Stiles, but. He's worth it. I'm just not sure I am.''

He expects a slap, but instead he gets an armful full of phoenix plastered against his side. ''Stop that. You are worth it, Derek Hale. I feel like slapping you but everyone knows you don't slap pregnant people.''

He pauses. ''I'm also really not a violent person, so I'll just settle to chiding you while hugging you.''

Despite himself, Derek finds himself snorting at the statement. ''Suit yourself. Though if we get things fixed between me and Stiles, you'll get a face full of jealous boyfriend with every hug you give. Just a fair warning.''

Jordan shrugs, tightening his arms. ''I don't mind. And after I'm done chewing him out, I doubt I'll have any trouble from him for awhile. A week at least.''

''Fair enough.'' He taps his finger against the now cold tea. ''You think you could let me finish this and get to bed? I'm hoping for at least four hours of sleep before I'll have an appointment with the toilet again.''

That makes Jordan laugh. The arms around him slowly slither away and the phoenix flops back down on his chair. ''Wake me up if you need something.''

Derek nods, though he doubts he will.

  
\---

He doesn't sleep. His brain is shooting in dozen different directions, each thought more dramatic than the last. There are scenarios like Stiles spitting in his face and telling him to fuck off, both Stilinski's taking things to court and taking custody of his baby, the cub dying before they're even born, the cub dying after they're born.

Logically he knows none of those things will happen. Or at least, not most of them. But emotionally he's exhausted, wrung dry, his hackles raised as if the threat was right there and constant, but nothing he could do about it. He only calms down when he focuses on the cub's heartbeat, the fast rhythm beating almost double in contrast to Derek's.

After not being able to sleep, he spends most of the night hugging the cool porcelain, resting his face on the toilet lid whenever he's done hurling his intestines off. Jordan finds him half slouched against the bathtub, between coherent and incoherent in the wee hours of the morning. He guides him gently back to his bed, jogging downstairs to fetch his bucket.

Derek thanks him, and then falls somewhere in the middle of awareness and slumber. Couple times he feels warm hands against his forehead and thinks he drinks something slightly bitter, but mostly he's unaware of the things going around him.

He jerks awake at eleven a.m., sweating through another nightmare.

The sheriff had promised to give Stiles a ride around twelve, so Derek quickly scrambles upright out from the bed, hurrying to take a shower and dress properly before facing his ex. . . Something. Which turns out to be the very worst decision, because between one moment and the next, he's falling fast towards the floor and his last thought is 'oh shit' before his head hits the floor and darkness engulfs him.

 

This time when he wakes, his face is pressed against a t-shirt with a familiar scent. Cool hand is stroking his cheek, the other supporting him from his back. He's on his back, half sprawled out on a lap.

Stiles' lap.

The man is speaking frantically on his cellphone, the phone somewhere on the floor, presumably on speaker. Derek shifts and Stiles cuts off, glancing sharply at him.

''Derek?''

He squints his eyes open, and sees Stiles beautiful face creased in a worried frown. He blinks, and then gives a hoarse, ''Yeah.'' The hand touching his cheek falls away, and Derek immediately misses the contact.

''Oh thank god. Dad, Dad it's fine, he's awake. I'll get him on the bed, we'll be fine.'' The sheriff answers something and Stiles groans, ''No, seriously, we're fine.'' He stops, looks back down at Derek. ''Are we?''

''Yeah.''

''Did you hear that dad? No need to send out the rescue troops.''

 _''Derek?'_ ' The sheriff's tinny voice sounds from the speaker. ''Yeah?'' He says, feeling a little out of it, hence the repeat of the same word. So sue him, he hasn't seen Stiles this gentle in almost two months and suddenly he's cuddled up in his lap. He's allowed to be a little dumbfounded. _''You alright, son?''_

''I think so, sir.''

_''I think so isn't good enough. You trust Stiles to get you taken care of? Or do you need Jordan to come over?''_

Hurt fills Stiles' scent, and he's opening his mouth like he's about to say something to that, but Derek hastens to intervene. ''Having Stiles here is good. We're good. I'll text Jordan later. We're fine.''

_''Alright then. You boys be good now. I expect a call or a visit when you sort things out, alright?''_

''Yeah, dad. Okay. See you, love you, bye.''

_''Love you too Stiles.''_

Stiles hangs up and then directs his gaze to Derek. He shifts uncomfortably under Stiles' calculating scrutiny. After a long minute, Stiles says, ''You look like shit.''

Derek snorts. Stiles' frown deepens as he takes in the dark bags under Derek's eyes, no doubt the paler than his normal complexion. ''No, really. You look like Morgana did when she was shackled in the bottom of a well with Athuisa. What's wrong with you?''

''That's a fairly vague question. There's a ton of things that are wrong with me.'' Derek grumbles and tries to shift to a sitting position. Stiles gives him a slight boost, but deeming the floor a bad place, he helps Derek sit on the bed.

They sit there for a minute in awkward silence. Stiles fidgets, and it makes Derek want to reach out and grab the tapping fingers into his. But he has no right right now, and isn't sure if he even wants to. The earlier hurt and anger he felt when Jordan told Scott's side of story starts to bubble back to the surface.

''Sooo. . . Dad said you have something to tell me.''

''Understatement of the century.'' Derek breathes, but nods. ''Maybe we should take this downstairs.''

''Good idea.''

They settle in the kitchen, Stiles going through his cabinets to find mugs and crackers it seems, and puts water to boil. ''This is a nice house you've got. Very modern and not at all filthy. Not even rats! Or visible blood stains. Good for you,man.''

Derek shrugs. He had been looking at the listings for a few months beforehand, taking into accord the three bedrooms Stiles in mind. They'd been still happy back then. ''It's quiet. Near the preserve but not too far from the town center.''

He sees Stiles side-eyeing him but keeps his eyes firmly on his hands placed delicately on the table. ''Yeah, I can see how that would appeal to you. Small, compact house with a huge backyard that leads to the forest.'' Stiles nods. ''Must be good for the full moon runs too.''

The water boils and Stiles settles the cups on the table, teabags soaking in the hot water. He grabs the milk and sugar for Derek, lathering his own tea with honey. Derek accepts the cup and has the feeling that his hands have been wrapped around a tea or a coffee cup more frequently in the past two days than he has within the past four weeks.

Again, silence settles in the room, thick with apprehension and a hint of worry from Stiles. He taps his finger lightly against the table and decides to just plunge straight into the deep end.

He starts, ''The past few months have been a little rough.'' And it makes Stiles give an unamused huff and an eye roll. Derek ignores it and steamrolls forward. ''I, the month before you left for college. . .'' Words, always so hard to figure out. It seems that his sentences are starting to fail him again, and he clenches his jaw in frustration.

God, if only he had Stiles' ability to just form the words as easily as taking things off the market's shelf and get his head sorted out until everyone can understand. He rubs his face tiredly. ''You, you started acting really oddly. Like, I don't know. Like you waited for a fight, or a rejection or something. I didn't really understand why.''

Anger floods the air, Stiles' face twisting in an ugly sneer. ''Like hell you didn't - ''

But Derek cuts him off before he can go further. _''Let me finish.''_

Taken aback by Derek's forceful outburst, Stiles subsides. Grumpily, but he does. Derek gives a glare and clears his throat. ''Like I was saying. I didn't understand why. Why you'd take your distance, reject my touch or when you welcomed it, it wasn't. . . The way it was before. More violent. More. .'' He swallows. ''A bit more Kate-like forcefulness.''

Stiles flinches. ''I didn't meant to -''

''Stiles. Please. Let me finish.''

Stiles drops his head on the table to hide behind his crossed arms but gestures Derek to go on. Taking it, Derek continues with a murmur, ''And I felt you slipping away from me. The more time went by, the more bitter your scent turned, your words more biting. _Vicious_. And I had no idea what I had done to deserve that, but knew it had to be something because you wouldn't do that to me for no reason. I had trusted you with my past, my weaknesses and my present and I just wanted the Stiles I loved back. Not the unnecessarily mean and cold one that I was acquainted with in July.''

He sighs heavily and takes a sip from his tea. He still feels a little light-headed, but knows he needs to get everything out the clear now, before Stiles could interrupt. So he rolls on to continue. ''And then you left. No goodbye, no proper rejection, just a 'thanks for the breakfast', out the door and poof. You were gone. Changed your cellphone number too, you fucking idiot.''

''Well what was I supposed to do? Scott told me -''

''Exactly.'' Derek cuts him off. '' _Scott_ told you. Did it ever occur to you that you could've taken it up with _me_? That my supposed cheating was something to discuss with _me_ , your _goddamn boyfriend_ , rather than that blithering dumbass?''

''Hey!''

''Oh don't you start, Stiles.'' He snarls. ''You know full well that Scott never approved of our dating, if that's what we can even call it when you didn't trust me with a simple, 'hey, can we talk?'. If Scott told you that your dad had decided to fuck off town and got a new job, wouldn't you usually just fucking call him and clear things through straight from the source, rather than a second or third party?''

Stiles grits his teeth but Derek isn't done. ''But no. You trusted Scott over me, which I wouldn't be as butthurt as I am if it hadn't meant that you'd suddenly cut off all contact with me, not a single word of if you were alright and if you were settling fine in college. In fact, after you went blasting off to everyone that I had cheated on you, half of the town started treating be like some, some _goddamn delinquent_ , a trash in the soles of their shoes. Fuck, once I swear I even smelled someone's _spit_ on the burger I ordered. So _fuck_ Scott. And _fuck you too_ , honestly.''

''Well,'' Stiles drawls sarcastically, ''If you got dad to get me here just to yell at me for not wanting to be together with my cheating ex-boyfriend then fuck you. I don't have to listen to this - ''

Derek slams his hands on the table. ''Just shut the fuck up and _listen_ , you dumbass!''

Stiles plops straight back to the chair with wide eyes. ''Thank you.'' Derek says, more controlled. ''And for the record, I didn't cheat on you. I _know_ ,'' he adds, seeing the narrowed look Stiles send him, ''I heard from Jordan what Scott had seen and told you. But what he saw and what actually happened were two drastically different stories.''

Exhausted, he rubs his hand across his face. He's getting fed up with having to explain the story over and over. ''When Scott told you he saw me at a coffee shop on a 'date','' he does exaggerated quotes, ''with a woman, with hugging, well, part of it is true. I was in a coffee shop with a woman and I did hug her. But she wasn't a date, Stiles.''

He sighs, weary. Suddenly all the fight and fury just floods out of him, leaving him bone-tired. ''It was one of my therapists. I had scheduled an appointment with Dr. Lahti, and before you come at me with facts that Dr. Lahti is an old granny, yes, she is. But her daughter is in her mid thirties and when Daniela started thinking about retiring, she started introducing me gradually to Elina to take her place. That's all she is. A professional therapist.''

Seeing Stiles gape at him wide-eyed, expression between horrified and shameful, Derek says, ''We were having a hands-on session. It was supposed to be with Daniela, but she got sick and Elina took her place. When I had expressed earlier concerns to Dr. Lahti, she wanted to try to be present while I was struggling with public places with loud noises. To, you know, assess me or help me or something.'' He shrugs a little helplessly.

''I hugged her, because there were women there that were thinking of approaching me, and when I told this, Elina decided to fend them off. I trust her, so hugging her briefly was tolerable.

''The thing that hurts me most about this is that you _knew_ I had a session that day. And you know that I cannot _ever_ go into a relationship with a woman, not _ever_. I have too much affiliated trauma to be equipped to handle that kind of relationship. Women in general are pretty terrifying to be honest. And I was in a committed relationship with _you_. Just, just tell me Stiles. Why would you do that? Trust Scott so blindly and not even asking me about it? When it clearly was something between the two of us, and not the whole world.''

When Stiles doesn't answer, Derek can barely keep the hurt noise he wants to make in his throat. He stares at the table top, picking at his finger nail. ''And you know I'm a demisexual. It took _us_ a better part of eight months to even get me undressed in your presence. I just -- _I don't understand._ What were you _thinking_? How did I fail you so spectacularly that you'd think I'd voluntarily jump onto a date idea with a complete stranger? A stranger that's a woman, no less.''

Derek chances a glance up to see Stiles' face.

Tears dripping down the human's cheeks, Stiles looks down at his hands. He sniffles, and Derek can see that he's struggling for words, no doubt having his throat blocked by a big lump. Derek wants to cry too, but it's all he's been doing lately, and he doesn't have any tears left.

''I'm sorry,'' Stiles whispers. ''I'm so sorry Derek. I - I don't - ''

''You don't what?'' Derek spits. ''Just, for the love of God, start speaking _right_ the fuck now or get the _fuck_ out. I am so damn tired of wondering what the hell I did wrong, what I did to drive you away. Why you didn't want to hold onto me, when all I wanted was to -- ''

He can't finish that sentence. God, it hurts. All of that bright future he had imagined for them, crushed in a better part of a month.

Then a horrible thought hits him. What if all that was just a ploy for Stiles to dump him? To get a convenient excuse to leave Derek and take his chances in college. The thought makes his stomach turn sour, something cold and heavy settling there.

''Or was all this just a ploy to get your hands brushed off of me and go have fun in college? Was that it? Was I so worthless in your eyes that I didn't deserve an explanation to anything? That you'd think our relationship was just a small stepping stone for you and I wasn't good enough for you? We're you that unhappy with me?''

The way Stiles is staying silent makes his ears ring, and he snaps. _''Just fucking say something!''_

Stiles' breathing starts to speed up, and he's struggling for breath.

And, oh - _Oh Shit._

There's something inherently awful at making the love of your life have a panic attack. No matter how devastated Derek is, no matter how grief stricken, he can't stop his pouring love for Stiles, instincts berating him for hurting his partner. He reaches lightly over the table, his hand hovering near Stiles' coffee cup.

He gentles his voice, ''Hey. Hey, take a deep breath for me, alright? Deep breaths, c'mon.''

Stiles takes a huge gulping breath, and then releases it slowly. He does it again, then a few more before he gets his breathing slightly better under control. The glittering tears don't stop, and soon Stiles starts sobbing in earnest.

Derek frowns and then slowly stands up and goes around the table. He crouches in front of the blubbering man, taking his hand.

He doesn't tell Stiles it's okay, because it obviously isn't. There aren't any soothing words that the human could even accept, but physical contact calms them both down, so Derek takes the other hand too in his. He starts rubbing small circles on the open skin, Stiles long strong fingers grasping at Derek's in desperation.

The scents of shame and guilt waft like a thick blow of smoke. A small part of him is glad for this, because he knows then and there that at least he wasn't part of a scheme Stiles and Scott had maneuvered, wasn't being lied to his face. And if Stiles truly thought Derek had just been cheating on him. . .

That, he thinks, might be even worse. There are few things that make him spiral into that deep pit of self-hatred, and hurting Stiles had become one of them. And right now, both of them were desperate and distressed, and Derek longed for those brown gentle eyes to be directed at him again. Not those cold and calculating looks Stiles had thrown at him before --

Before.

As if sensing his other father is in distress, Derek's stomach starts to hurt. The cub's heartbeat is a little faster than normal. The pain makes him grimace, muscles contracting under the pressure. He wants to let one of his hands go to rub his belly, but Stiles has a fairly strong grip on them.

''Stiles,'' he says, gritting his teeth. ''I, you can keep crying or whatever but please give me back one of my hands.''

Blinking the tears, Stiles sniffles, ''Huh?''

Taking deep, labored breaths, Derek doubles over with a groan. Stiles' hands release his, and he gives an alarmed, ''Derek?!''

He supports his weight on the floor, hands trembling, and when another surge of pain lights up his stomach and spine, he groans between teeth. God, it's awful. The underside of his belly cramps viciously, making his lower back spasm in agony.

Stiles' cool hands come rub his back and he asks, ''What is it? What's wrong? Oh my God, are you dying? Is _this_ why you called me here? Derek - ''

'' _Jesus_ , I'm not dying,'' he grits and grasps at the human's arm. ''Just very _very_ pregnant and suffering.''

''Okay, okay, that's - Wait _what_ \- _Holy shit,_ Derek what -''

''Help me up,'' he breathes, momentary pain subsiding. Stiles does as he's told, slipping his arms under Derek's and supporting his weight. Stiles stammers, ''Where, where do you wanna sit? The sofa would be better, I'll help you there, c'mon big guy.''

Helpless to do anything but follow, Derek leans heavily against the other man. He can already feel another wave coming, simmering in the pits of his belly. Reaching the sofa, he settles on it carefully, Stiles hoovering behind him.

''Do you need anything? Tell me how I can help you. _Please_.''

Derek shakes his head. ''There's not much you can do.'' The cramping renews. ''It just _hur_ \- '' he doesn't get to finish, a pitiful groan stumbling from his lips as he cradles his stomach. Cold sweat pools onto his skin, breathing hiccuping with waves of pain. Stiles is frantic, trying to pinpoint the source of the misery Derek's in, but there is no physical wound. Just a womb trying to tears some space into his inner organs.

In the end, Stiles ends up kneeling in front of Derek and rubbing at his belly. He does gentle circles against the skin, much like the ones Derek had done against his palm. Surprisingly, it does help. The God awful burn recedes with every broad stroke of Stiles' hand.

When his muscles stop spasming weakly, Derek sighs a breath of relief. Stiles does too, when Derek says as much, slumping against Derek's thighs. The human hides his face against Derek's stomach, taking refuge at the warmth of him.

He brings his arms down and hoists Stiles up on his lap, making the human recline against his front. He starts rubbing circles on Stiles' back, letting Stiles take refuge under Derek's chin. He gives another, smaller sigh. Nuzzles against Stiles' hair, the familiar shampoo and sweat comforting balm to his frayed nerves. They stay there, cuddling for long moments as Derek gathers his wits about him and waits for Stiles to finally internalize the fact that Derek is with a child.

With Stiles' child, to be precise.

Oh God. What if Stiles thinks the baby is someone else's? His eyes widen and he struggles to dislocate the human and sit up. Stiles goes willingly, though his scent is wary when he settles slowly on the other end of the sofa. Derek's frantic struggling probably doesn't help at all.

''What is it?'' Stiles asks.

''The cub. It -- It's yours.''

That makes Stiles freeze, giving Derek a slow nod. ''Yyeah, I kind of, uh, gathered that? With the um,'' he waves his hand in Derek's general direction, ''Dad intervening and um, your speech just now.''

Derek nods, relieved. He starts to absently rub his stomach in a way that all pregnant women and men do. He'd just never thought he'd be the one carrying a pup, not belonging in the transgender nor nonbinary scale. Stiles starts fidgeting when a silence descends, and Derek is just about to tell the human to spit it out when Stiles blurts,

''Are you gonna keep it?''

His hands tighten around his stomach and Derek looks at the man in alarm. Here they go, he thinks. The conversation he's been dreading ever since he found out about the child nestling inside him.

''Yes,'' he answers firmly, hoping to state that he wasn't up for giving up on his pup.

''And. .'' Stiles hedges, glancing at Derek and away, anxiety, anticipation and fear wafting off of him. ''Are you, am I gonna - '' He waves at his hands nervously, ''Am I allowed to be in this child's life?'' He finishes quietly.

Derek almost chokes on his answer. Of course Stiles is allowed to stay in his kid's life. Derek might be a werewolf, but he isn't a monster. ''Of course,'' he answers, and gives Stiles a tight nod.

''The pup deserves to have both his parents present. Unless,'' Derek swallows roughly. ''Unless you don't want to be? Because,'' he rushes to continue, ''I will keep this child no matter what you say. If you want to stay in their life, that's good, great. But if you don't that's okay too. I get- I understand. You're young and in college, barely started and -''

''Whoah, whoah whoah. Calm down, big guy.'' Stiles sighs. Part relief, part fear. ''I want to. With you, if. . If you still want me. I mean, I get that there's a ton of stuff we have to work on, number one being communication, and uh, I think I have a lot of groveling to do so. . .''

''I'd like that,'' Derek replies softly. ''To work on things. I, we, we need to take things slow though.''

Stiles is nodding, hopeful excitement in his eyes. ''Yeah. Slow. I can do that. Though not too slow, what with the, uh.'' He gestures at Derek's stomach.

Derek gives the man a tiny smile, though it's more like a twitch of lips. God, he's missed Stiles so much.

Then Stiles squints, in that way that lets Derek know he's figuring something out. He can practically see the wheels turning inside Stiles' head, and when the thought finally clicks, Stiles' eyes widen.

''You're pregnant.''

Furrowing his brows, Derek hedges, ''Yes. . .?'' He thought they'd established this already.

''With my child.''

''Yes.''

''What if -- '' Stiles swallows. ''What if I'm no good? That's why I. . . That's why I believed in Scott in the first place.''

This takes Derek's attention. He looks at the human imploringly. ''Tell me.''

Stiles sighs, running his hands through his hair. ''I, it's really stupid to be honest,'' he starts with. ''You know about my insecurities. I've been at the bottom of the social ladder for my whole life and suddenly when I took interest in you, and you reciprocated my feelings, it felt, super unreal you know?''

''I know,'' Derek murmurs, because he thinks the same. It's amazing that someone as brilliant and smart as Stiles would ever even think of getting together with a broken man like Derek is.

''And when we were so happy, it sometimes seemed like I was dreaming, you know? That one day, you'd wake up and snap out of it, realizing that you'd be happier with someone else. Someone better.''

''Stiles, no -''

But the human shakes his head. ''I know. I see that now. You really did love me,'' Stiles chokes, and tears blur his vision again. ''And I ruined that because I always feel like I'm not good enough, that you could do so much better with someone that wasn't as fucked up as I am. But I really, really understand now.

''But when Scott came to me, all worried and angry that he'd seen you sitting in a coffee shop with a woman, all of my insecurities just bubbled up without my consent. And back then, it all made perfect sense. You'd found someone pretty and nurturing, someone that was still whole. Maybe you were feeling her out, not wanting to break the fragile Stiles' heart, keeping me as a backup.''

Derek makes a furious noise at the back of his throat and Stiles snorts, though it's wobbly.

''I was so angry with you. When I came home and you were in a good mood from your date, it made my blood boil. How dare you go behind my back and then pretend you were doing nothing at all. How dare you cheat on me and pretend to still be in a relationship with me. I kept waiting for the inevitable, for the final fall-out that you'd come clean and confess that you wanted to break up because you are already in a new relationship.

''But you didn't say anything. And, _fuck_ , you let me do all those things to you. I was so rough and cold to you because I just wanted you to _snap_ , to _admit_ that you'd cheated, that you didn't want me anymore. But you always looked so confused and hurt whenever I did that that it made me even more pissed off. It, it seemed like you were playing victim, when _I_ was the one hurting.''

Derek honestly feels like crying. He can feel the tears that have sprang to his eyes, but his whole body seems numb in the face of all these accusations. He wants Stiles to stop, to not say a word more, but the human continues mercilessly, oblivious.

''Scott went ahead and told dad too. The whole station probably heard the spectacle of my dad yelling and Scott agreeing with furious nods. I was just a blubbering mess, and honestly, just wanted to leave and not come back. You were gonna be happy with your new partner and I was gonna be cast aside. At least I could do my broken heart mending in college.''

Stiles heaves a sigh. ''The morning I left,'' he says quietly, chancing a glance at Derek. ''You looked like you _knew_ I wasn't gonna come back. Like I was a piece of your family and you'd just lost me too.''

Derek brings a hand against his mouth, helpless against the sob that wrenches from his throat. Stiles was right. About all of it. For weeks he could barely sleep a wink, eating only when he was conscious about thinking of his hunger. The only thing that kept him from completely falling apart was the move from the loft to his house.

''I knew,'' Derek sobs, and smells the tears that are dripping from Stiles' eyes. The human comes to hug him, and Derek clings to him, desperate and so upset. He had had no idea that's what Stiles had been thinking. To let his partner think that Derek would cast him aside the second someone else came into the picture. In his books, that was unforgivable. He'd never forgive himself for that. This is why he was never meant to be an alpha.

''I'm sorry,'' he croaks, and finally lets the tears in his eyes fall down his cheeks. ''I'm so _so_ sorry.''

''No,'' Stiles says, voice thick. ''It wasn't your fault. _I'm_ sorry. God, Derek. I'm so, _so_ sorry. Please, _please_ forgive me.''

 

It takes awhile for them to calm down. Stiles blubbering apologies, and Derek crying silent tears, broken by the small sobs that he can't suppress. The regret and sorrow, all those weeks of anguish, all of it pouring out with each tear that departs.

It's refreshing. Like airing out a room that has been stuffy and filled with dust for years and years. Cleansing, letting all of those negative emotions out, until both of them are empty but a lot more lighter than an hour before. The heavy weight finally lifting from their shoulders.

The next half an hour they talk with low voices, soaking in the physical comfort the cuddling provides them.

They still have many things to discuss, and having a psychical time limit is Derek's biggest fear. Stiles is young, just turned nineteen and already on his way to fatherhood. Derek is barely twenty three himself, both of them lacking the patience and wisdom of people their elders, and the future is frankly terrifying to think of. He will always hold Stiles' heart, and even if Stiles one day decided that he'd be through with Derek, that would be it. Derek wouldn't be able to trust anyone with himself like he does with the human, and even the thought of going out and trying to open up to strangers about his tragic past makes him balk.

But for now, in this particularly present, their biggest worry is probably Stiles being away for college while Derek will continue to grow his stomach with their cub, their pack measly three, five if Jordan and sheriff are counted in. But Jordan had promised to stay a neutral ground in the aftermath of Scott's and Derek's alpha battle, and even when Derek finally lost his powers to save Cora, the phoenix had firmly claimed his spot as Switzerland.

The sheriff is in the same pack as Stiles, and Stiles belongs in Scott's pack. And Derek is. . . Not. So in all honesty, it's just the cub and Derek in a pack.

That. . . That's not good.

''Stiles,'' Derek twitches a little to make the human notice him. Stiles emerges, just a little bit, keeping as much of his body in touching distance as he can. ''I - There's still something you should know.''

''Oh my God. What could it _possibly_ be anymore at this point?''

Derek frowns. ''This isn't a joking matter.'' He untangles himself from the human, and Stiles goes, though reluctantly. To get his hands something to do, he picks up one of the pillows. The human's scent goes a little apprehensive, and he wriggles a little bit on the sofa. He wraps his hand around Derek's calf in a small act of an apology, one of many to come.

''Okay. I'm sorry. I'm listening.''

Derek nods, and then says, with his usual blunt tact, ''I'm not in Scott's pack.''

Stiles is a little taken aback. ''You're not?''

He shakes his head. ''No. I have never been in his pack, and I never will be.'' He silences Stiles with his hand. ''Before you say anything, I just want to clarify. There's just too much animosity between me and Scott. There's no trust, and frankly, there never will be. Not from my side at least.''

''But. . . But Scott said - ''

''Scott may be a true alpha, but I'm a born one. For me, the instincts are natural. There is no wolf or man. I am a werewolf. I don't segregate between the two because there are no separate beings. So I know what I feel when I feel pack bonds, alpha or no alpha.

''Scott has been a werewolf for three years, which two of them he's spent as an alpha, and half of it trying to deny being a shifter. I don't know how he differentiates between probing the pack bonds and the alpha bonds he has. But you can easily mix those up because there are so many of them. But I have never bonded with Scott, nor have I submitted to him. And I won't.''

Stiles is frowning now, and Derek can almost see his brain filing the information away. ''So. . What are you trying to say? That you need a pack? Or that me being in Scott's pack is going to be a problem?''

''Both. Neither.'' Derek answers, furrowing his brows and groans lowly. ''I don't know.'' He rubs his face. ''I don't know much about male werewolf pregnancies, but what I do know of female pregnancies is that - ''

He has to swallow roughly and avert his gaze before continuing. ''All I know is that omega werewolves either lose their cub before they hit full term, or deliver them still born, or possibly both the cub and the mother die during birth.''

Stiles immediately grasps the facts. His eyes widen. ''A werewolf needs a pack. You need a pack. Or you'll --'' He doesn't finish the sentence.

Derek nods. ''It's almost unheard of of a wolf being pregnant without a pack. A carrying wolf mother can turn vicious if their den is encroached without permission, and they will fight to death to protect their cubs. They'll need and crave the protection of a pack when they feel vulnerable.''

''Are you telling me that either or both of you are going to _die?''_

Alarmed at the anger and grief pouring off of Stiles, he jerks his head to look at the man. Stiles is trembling, unshed tears pooling in his eyes, the earlier tentative calmness gone.

''I - I don't know.''

''What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?''

''It means that _I don't know!_ I literally thought the legend of male pregnancies was just that, a legend! I don't _have_ any more information than that.''

A determined look crosses at Stiles face and he nods. His hands are balled in fists, both arms crossed against his chest. ''Then I'll find out. Because I will not let either of you die, okay? I'll fucking ward this house to protect you from everything, pay armed people to guard you, _fuck if I know!_ But I will _not_ let you die, Derek. Not you, or your cub.''

Derek sighs. But Stiles isn't done. ''Have you talked to Deaton? Maybe he - ''

''No!''

Forcing a calm breath, Derek says again, lower. ''How many times do I have to tell people. Nobody tells Deaton about this cub. His intentions are to keep the balance. If that balance wavers and the way to restore it is to kill my child, then he will do it. Or he won't do it himself but he'll manipulate other people to do it. And if anyone suggests Deaton one more time to me, I will snap necks.'' He does a dramatic pause. ''Preferably his.''

''Ookay. I had no idea you felt so unfavorably of him.''

He growls. ''Understatement of the century.''

Stiles lifts his hands soothingly. ''Alright. No mister cryptic shall pass anywhere near you.''

''I swear to God if you're just humoring me right now -- ''

''Oh my God, Derek, chill. I promise I'm being serious. No Dr. Deaton for any and all werewolf pregnancy related questions. I'll just have to research on my own then,'' Stiles shrugs.

Derek side-eyes him for a bit. ''You're being remarkably calm about all of this.''

There's an ugly snort and a little eye rolling. ''Yeah, no. I'm still pretty much reeling of the fact that I have a chance with you to fix our relationship. The baby? Your omega-status? The fact that my father is going to give me an earful when I get home and possibly ground me if he could, because let me tell you, he was pretty much ready to rip me a new one the second my butt hit his cruiser, but he didn't. Just kept quiet until he woke me up at eleven and dragged my ass over to your house. Then, when I asked who lived here, he just said, 'When you get everything fixed up and get home, I'll have a long chat with you about trust and other issues, but for now, good luck son. You'll need it.' and then just sped off!''

He's been ticking his fingers down one by one, and then he gets to the last one, ''And your vehemence against Deaton explains to me why Melissa was fuming about the man when she came over this morning to deliver some shopping bags to dad. I guess you talked to her, huh?''

''Yeah.'' Derek consents. ''I only realized I was pregnant when I heard the cub's heartbeat two-three days ago, and then Jordan came over and I just confessed everything to him. He's the one who called Melissa, and Melissa convinced me to call your dad. Or, more like, she called him and told me it was for my own good.'' He snorts.

Stiles gives a tentative laugh. ''Yeah, sounds about right.''

Derek thinks about it for a minute. ''She's convinced that Deaton knew exactly what was going to happen, and that you getting possessed was easily prevented if he'd just given you the spell right away rather than taking a step back and seeing how things played out. The phrase he used, the um.'' He twirls his finger. '' 'You have to carry the darkness with you for the rest of your life. That is the price of your sacrifice' or some bull like that. That's not what the sacrifice was about, and he could've purified all of your minds with a spell that would've required you to give a piece of your spark and some Deaton's mojo and that's it.''

Not sure why the human is giving him a strange look, Derek scowls defensively. ''What? I may not be good with computers but I know how to effectively search books for information.''

''You're saying that I was _possessed_ for _nothing_? That Allison _died_ for no fucking reason at all than that of Deaton not giving a fuck?''

Grimacing a little, Derek shrugs. ''I really don't know. But I found the answer easily enough, so I think Deaton should've too. If he had bothered.''

Stiles' face darkens and something cruel drapes across his features. Derek lets Stiles mull the information, though he's starting to think that maybe he should've given these revelations with time between them. Maybe chop the topics in chunks and given bits and pieces on different days rather than dump all of it on Stiles at once. But he's not good at long-term planning like that, and if he doesn't do something immediately, he sometimes forgets or balks at going through with the plans.

After a moment, he hesitates a little before asking, ''Are you okay?''

Nodding, Stiles releases a breath of air before going lax, slumping against the sofa cushions. The grip on his calf tightens momentarily before Stiles starts rubbing soothing circles in it.

''Yeah,'' he says, giving Derek a wry smile. ''Gotta call my dad though. God, I never would've thought. . .''

Cringing, Derek says, ''I know this is a lot to take in, and I understand if the existence of our cub is going to be a problem, or that you don't want to have anything to do with us - ''

''What, no! Derek.'' This time Stiles rolls his eyes exasperatedly. ''I don't know if I'm ready to be a dad, but I already am one. Sure it's gonna be scary and a lot difficult, but I'm not leaving you. God.'' He narrows his eyes. ''Be thankful that I know this is your insecurities speaking. Otherwise I'd be pretty offended that you'd try to erase me from my kid's life.''

''I didn't mean -''

''I know you didn't, doofus. But I'm in this. We're in this. Together. We still gotta fix things between the two of us, but the baby will know nothing less than happiness and that they're loved when they're born. I love you. How will I thwack that in your head so you'll believe me?''

Hesitatingly, Derek places his hand on top of Stiles' heart. ''Say it.''

Stiles gives a brilliantly bright grin. ''I love you, Derek Hale. I love you, I love you, I love you and I'm sorry. You're stuck with me now. No take backsies. We're in this together.'' He scrunches up his face. ''Ugh, I ruined the moment. Now all I can hear is high school musical's,'' he starts singing in an overly pitched voice, ''We're all in this together, once we know that we are, we're all stars and we see that - ''

Slapping a hand to cover Stiles' mouth isn't the most mature thing he's done, but it isn't in the bottom ten either, so he has no remorse. Stiles gives him the stink-eye before cracking up. A wet tongue runs over his palm and Derek makes a face. He lifts his hands and pleads, ''No high school musical, okay?''

Stiles nods and gives him a smile. Returning it, though it's more of a tick of his mouth, Derek ushers the human off the sofa. ''We have things to sort through and I'm getting hungry. Call your dad while I'll make us something to eat.''

Stiles moans pitifully but agrees.

When he's done making the light lunch, the human comes back to the kitchen with flushed cheeks and completely chastised. He would feel bad for the guy but honestly, he just hopes that if they do end up staying together and raise the child under one roof, that Stiles would learn to trust Derek. There would be no hastily drawn conclusions, no fights left without a proper resolve.

He knows Stiles had told him earlier that he wanted to earn Derek's trust back, but he kinda wants to return the favour. The uncomfortable weight in his chest at the revelation that Stiles hadn't felt comfortable enough to come talk to Derek about Scott's phony story sits heavily on his chest.

He eats quietly, coaxing his stomach into accepting the nutrient. It's quite essential for the cub to get food in order to grow, and if his body keeps rejecting everything he puts in his mouth, they're gonna have a problem sooner rather than later.

He makes it a full half an hour before he's ready to make friends with the bathroom floor again. Stiles follows him like a hawk the rest of the day, hoovering behind him. It's not completely unwarranted when Derek almost does a dive down the stairs, dizzy after an episode, having had to change clothes after some of the foul-smelling fluid dropped on his shirt and pajama pants.

Things would be very awkward between him and Stiles if it wasn't for the fact that Derek can barely keep his eyes open now. He hasn't completely forgiven the human, neither Stilinski, but his cub seems to like having his father near, and who's Derek to deny what his child wants?

Though in the evening Derek points towards the door. Stiles whines, pouting, but complies easily. Before he does step out the door, he whirls around and faces him.

''I am sorry, Derek. I am truly and honestly sorry from the bottom of my heart. My actions have been atrocious, and my mom would be so ashamed of me.'' Stiles shakes his head and gives a pained look. ''I will give everything I have to woo you again. I'll take you on dates. I'll bring you flowers and food and I swear to God I will fucking grovel if you want me to, but I want to be part of your future, and the baby's future.''

He takes a deep breath and continues, ''And when you decide to forgive me, I'll be here faster than you can say 'Cecil Baldwin'.''

The admission makes Derek smile a teeny tiny smile. When Stiles sees it, his face transforms into a beaming one. ''I swear, I will protect you. You and the cub. I -- I might freak out still. I have to tell you that because you deserve honesty, but.'' Stiles cringes. ''I promise I'll always come back. I'm never gonna leave again without telling you first. And if I do, you have every right to bring me back kicking and hissing.''

Derek swallows. It sounds like a confession. Like a proposal. It takes everything in him to not just say 'fuck it' and throw himself at the human. Because he knows he deserves the apologies, the groveling Stiles will do no doubt, even if Derek told him not to. The blame's for once not on him, and he owes it to himself to take every bit of affection Stiles can muster, even if he has already almost forgiven the man.

Love is a strange thing.

''I'll keep that in mind,'' he replies, and Stiles ducks his head, something hopeful clinging to his scent.

''So, I'mma. Skedaddle.'' He points to his dad sitting in the cruiser parked outside. ''But if you'll let me, I'd like to come back tomorrow.''

Derek pretends to consider it for a minute, and then nods. Stiles grins and leans forward as if to kiss Derek. Derek turns his face so that the peck hits his cheek, and Stiles looks a little embarrassed.

''I'm sorry,'' he apologizes, ''Next time, I'll ask. I kind of forgot the thing.'' He brings his hands out of his pockets. ''Can I -- Is it okay to give you a hug?''

That, Derek allows, opening his arms to get the human into his embrace. Stiles squeezes him tight, arms trembling. Derek can smell the tears gathering in the human's eyes, but doesn't say anything. When Stiles lets go, he gives a tremulous smile and a thumbs up.

''So,'' he says, ''I'll see you tomorrow. I'm seriously gonna woo you, Derek. You won't even know what hit you!'' Then he thinks better of the metaphor and hastily says, ''No, that, that sounded wrong. You -- Argh, why are words failing me now? I'll be good to you Derek. I'll have your love back, even if it will take me another year, two years, ten years. Wait, no, please don't make me wait ten years, I'll probably cry -Okay, never mind, take as long as you like.  Just know that I love you and I'm sorry.''

With that, Stiles turns and gives a little wave before disappearing into the police cruiser. John gives him a wave of hello too before speeding off.

All and all, things are starting to look up.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize and thank humbly for everyone for their patience. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

The next morning is awful. Yesterday's full day contact with Stiles had finally soothed his instincts that had been going haywire without him even realizing it, but to have it cut off again had made him restless the whole night.

Derek blinks his eyes open for the tenth time, and when the clock in his phone lights up 5:34 a.m he finally sighs in defeat and rolls out of bed. He has no idea what he's going to do before Stiles comes back, or the whole semester when Stiles won't even be within reaching distance.

He parks himself on the living room sofa after carefully descending the dreaded stairs that had had Stiles' heart beat in a frantic stacatto the last time. His cupboards are empty again, Jordan having finished off the last of his eggs the day before. He wants to go onto a grocery run, but doing that alone terrifies him.

What has the world come into when a measly shopping trip has him grip the hem of his shirt so hard his knuckles go white?

The thing that surprises him the most is the heartbeat that walks slowly along the road. It's eerily familiar, with flashes of memories that still bring him nightmares sometimes. The pace of it is slow and steady, despite the rumbling storm that still brews over the town.

The knock on his door is even more of a surprise. He goes to it warily, peeking out at the slightly cracked door.

Peter, for his part, looks absolutely unamused. He wrenches the door open, smirking, opening his mouth to probably say something spiteful and sarcastic, when he. Stops. His uncle sniffs the air delicately, eyes going wide with what Derek would usually classify as wonder, but. Not Peter. Right?

''Nephew,'' Peter breathes, his entire body language changing. ''What have you done?''

''I - I'm - '' He can't get the words out, and he takes a step back. Peter stands there frozen for a couple seconds, before he physically shakes himself. Then his uncle actually ushers him inside, his hands going to the small of Derek's back. The touch is gentle, far different from their last encounter.

''Sit down, Derek. And tell Uncle Peter everything.''

The sound of that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand. Why can't his uncle be a little less of a creep?

Derek's steered to the living room couch, and Peter sits on the opposite side, right after he's blanketed Derek in a quilt. Derek watches his uncle carefully. This is either some sort of prank or a trap, wanting to lure him into a false sense of security, or. Or maybe it's guilt? Whatever it is, seeing the almost awed look on his uncle's face is rather discomfiting.

Or maybe Derek has somehow fallen into an alternative universe. Or maybe he's gone insane. He pinches himself. Definitely awake too.

''I'm pregnant,'' he says, because that much is obvious. Peter doesn't scoff or sass him for it, just nods his head slowly, eyes tracing Derek's shirt layered stomach.

''I see,'' the man says quietly. ''And am I wrong to assume that a certain spark is to thank for this new wonder of life?''

Narrowing his eyes sharply he growls. He doesn't want to know how Peter even got to that conclusion. It's not like the man has been around enough to know what's going on in anyone's lives in Beacon Hills. Instead, he dodges the question and snarls back, ''What are you doing here Peter?''

The man lifts his hands up in a general gesture of surrender. ''I mean no harm to you nephew, or your child. Or the, hm, other father. I have to assume it's a father? I'm so confused of these gender roles these days. It certainly has have had to have a dick at least. I'm pretty sure you didn't just conceive a child on purpose with a woman.''

''What the fuck is it to you? Last I checked you fled out of Beacon Hills years ago and cut off all contact with everyone. Including me.'' Derek rolls his eyes. ''Besides, there aren't that many 'gender roles'. There are people and their identities and their ways to express them. If you're so confused, you're just old and narrow minded.''

Peter tuts. ''Ah-ah. I'm only asking because I can't smell anyone else in here strongly enough. Lingering scents yes,'' his uncle nods, ''But for someone as your partner? As the father of this child? There is only one person you'd let close enough and that is our resident spark. Not that I smell him here, but the loft. . . My, that is practically engulfed with the scents of you two. But if he hasn't been here but briefly. . . I'd have some things to say about that.''

Peter sighs, and the cold expression vanishes, replaced with something weary. ''I'm not here to cause you trouble, dear,'' he murmurs. ''I came here because this is my home. Whether it's still standing or not. It's a Hale land, and Hale population should always be walking upon it.''

Derek nods, agreeing with his uncle. It is Hale land. It's tied to their very bones, to the deepest of their cores. When Derek had been away, in New York with Laura, Arizona with Cora, the deserts with Braeden. . . The land always had its pull, its very own siren song.

''So I came home. I had been reported missing until yesterday when I arrived at a police station in Utah. I was taken in and interrogated, but since nothing can be tied back to me, I got away unscathed.''

''The story of your life,'' Derek snorts. Peter levels him a look and Derek hunches a little in on himself like a scolded pup. 

''You are my sister's child, Derek. And I'd woven to protect you until the very last breath my lungs can squeeze out. I have. . . Done things wrong. I was so blinded to my rage that I couldn't see past that anguish. And that caused me to hurt the one thing that I had promised to protect.''

Derek looks at his uncle quietly. There's so much sincerity in those words, dripping with regret and loss. And if there's one thing that's Derek's weakness, his ultimate breaking point that everyone takes advantage of, it's his ability to forgive. His soft love, his soft heart.

''I am sorry, for Laura,'' Peter says and Derek flinches. Talk about pulling punches.

''I really am. But you have to understand that I was angry. Angry at you, angry at her. For leaving me here to rot all on my own. I get that you had to leave. I'm not blaming you for wanting to get away. You were young, and so was she. But I had to spend _six years_ in that place, rotting away, unable to heal with my pack nearby. I got furious.'' His uncle smirks. ''It's a funny thing how all that silence and being trapped into your own body and mind makes you think of very creative ways to destroy those who destroyed you.''

Derek edges away slightly, eyes alert and worried. He's scared too. His uncle always has been a wild card, the person that you could always go to and the secrets you told him would go with Peter to his grave, but. . . Peter is also very cunning. Smart and educated, able to think beyond the box. 

Much like Stiles.

''Oh, stop,'' Peter scoffs. ''I'm not running on that rage anymore. And neither are you. I have no idea what circumstances led you to become an omega, least of all when there's a pack right here roaming the streets. But you are stable, which I'm frankly most surprised about - '' Peter ignores the dark glare he sends his uncle, ''and your anchor is solid. I can practically taste the calm and. . .'' He sniffs again, his brow furrowing in confusion. ''. . . And defeat.''

Derek cringes, looking away. Peter hasn't shown concern for him in a long, _long_ time. The last time he did that, God, Derek must've been fourteen. And if there is one thing that would be able to shake the world in fear, it's his Uncle Peter on a warpath to find out why his family member is upset. 

''Why defeat, dear nephew?''

Sighing, he fidgets with his fingers. ''It's got. . . A lot to do with,'' he gestures to his stomach. If Peter can be honest, Derek can give a little too. 

''Ah,'' Peter nods in understanding.

''And, I, yes. You were right. Stiles is the um, other father.''

Peter frowns, his gaze landing back to Derek's. ''You sound uncertain.''

''I'm not uncertain. It's Stiles'.''

His uncle hums, something dark passing over his features. ''Is he not taking his responsibilities properly? Is he treating you badly?''

''No,'' Derek hurries to defend Stiles. ''I mean, he, we, it was just a huge misunderstanding. We're fine now.''

''Interesting,'' Peter drawls, ''Tell me about this misunderstanding of yours.''

Derek takes a deep breath and then lets out a huge gush of air. ''It was stupid. I was, we just thought things had happened differently and so we broke up for awhile. He left and - '' he stops, and then scowls. ''God, I don't even know why I'm telling you this. It's none of your business.''

Peter flashes his eyes, his mouth twisted in a snarl, and Derek actually reels back.

His eyes flashed red.

Peter was an alpha again.

''You're family, nephew. And I won't tolerate people hurting my family anymore,'' Peter grits, ''So you would be a fine pup if you just told me honestly what happened, and then let me make my decisions.''

Derek jumps up, his own eyes flashing as he snarls. ''You abandoned me just like the rest of them! You killed my sister, my _alpha_ ,'' Derek says, voice cracking. ''You left destruction in your wake more often than not. And every time I tried to fix things, _everything_ backfired. But nobody ever stayed for me. Not you, not Laura, not Boyd or Erica. Never Scott. Even Stiles believed in Scott more than me, accusing me of so many things I hadn't even committed. They all just wanted me for their own purposes, Kate, Scott, Gerard, Jennifer - You don't _care_. You want power again, don't you? You're just using me to get what you want to gain and - ''

A bile rises in his throat and he dashes to the nearest toilet to hurl. It hurts, the acid burning his throat, making tears prickle in his eyes. He ignores when Peter crouches behind him, his hand hesitantly coming to rub at his back. Ignores the soothing alpha rumble his uncle does, so reminiscent of his mother that it makes him twist his expression in grief, choking on his tears.

''I am sorry, nephew.'' Peter murmurs. ''You are right. I was. . Insane, for a better half of the time I woke up from my coma. I, in that moment of weakness and insanity to hurt Laura, and in extension, you. I regret that. I really truly do.''

''Your _regret_ ,'' Derek stifles a sob, ''Doesn't bring her back. Doesn't bring them back. I just want - I just want a family again. A pack I can trust, I want my mom, I want _dad_ \- ''

Peter grabs him them, turning him around, wiping Derek's mouth on his sleeve and brings him to his embrace. Cradling Derek, the alpha gently squeezes the back of his neck, the rumble in the older man's chest never ceasing as he murmurs soft apologies.

''Hush now, Derek. I'm sorry. I have destroyed your trust, dearest, but I will not leave you again. I do not have ulterior motives at this time.''

Derek mumbles his disagreement against his uncle's clothed chest, but doesn't move. It feels good to be held like this. He'd already forgotten how good of a cuddler Peter used to be. All of the Hale pups used to race and compete who go to snuggle with their favourite uncle. There had been many fights and bouts of anger, but back then, everything had seemed so uncomplicated. Peter had only laughed, told that he has enough lap to fit at least three cubs, and after that, he can just go lay around the pack's cuddle pit so everyone can indulge.

Peter sighs rather sorrowfully. ''I cannot change the past,'' he says quietly, and Derek keeps an ear on his heartbeat. His throat burns while he reflexively swallows to keep the tears at bay. ''But I can affect how I act in the future, how I do things in my present. There's no one left to kill, nephew. No matter how much blood I soaked my claws into, I have not found the kind of peace I crave for. And that has made me angry. It's the kind of hopeless anger that has no outlet, no way to exhaust it.''

Peter starts carding his fingers through Derek's hair, his torso rocking slightly back and forth. ''In my rage fueled revenge, I didn't realize what I was missing. And that was pack. You, Derek, are my pack. You always have been and you always will be.''

The admission makes Derek heart stop for a long moment, and he involuntarily holds his breath. His expression must be an odd one when he looks up at his uncle with wide eyes that flash blue. Because Peter's expression changes into something heartbreaking, his own eyes blazing red. Then the expression vanishes in the blink of an eye. His uncle's eyes reflect his own, and Derek's own eyes start to flicker, something settling deep in his bones.

''We have a alpha in this town,'' Peter says calmly, but there's something terrifying about it. Something that promises future violence, unfaltering cruelty that's hidden underneath the cold mask. ''A true alpha no less. A pack that you've helped time and time again. Why, dearest nephew, are you an omega?''

Well, not an omega anymore. Peter's words had ebbed that piece of his uncertain future away, making the Hales a pack of two. 

Three.

He can see his own eyes, the blue trickling away, the warm orange of a beta swallowing his irises. Instincts calming down, hypervigilance slowly pulling away from his mind, he goes limp in Peter's embrace. Something peaceful caresses his heart, the knowledge of having an alpha, a powerful, familiar alpha back in his life dusts away the years of struggling with his wolf.

''I'm not exactly a fan of Scott. I would never be able to submit to him after - After everything,'' he mumbles, inhaling his uncle's scent. It's just the same as it was years ago, before ash and blood made it soak into something bitter, something rotten. The rot is almost all gone though. Not every single scrap of it, and that will probably never happen either, as Peter has died already once.

His uncle nods, and forces his shift back. Derek hadn't even noticed the alpha unsheathing his claws, but now that they retract, Derek can feel the drag of them against his scalp.

Peter mumbles something about regretting biting idiot teenagers before he clears his throat and says, ''A sound decision.''

They get up and Peter takes a small moment to flush the toilet as well as make Derek wash his mouth. He appreciates the concern, though he's still a little unsure of his uncle. His words had seemed sincere and genuine, but Derek still doesn't know what caused the change of heart. What was the catalyst that made Peter realize that the revenge was doomed to fail, and that family was something he should be seeking.

Their wolf instincts, of course, mandates their inherent need for a pack, but Peter had tried to kill Derek before, never mind that Derek actually helped the teenagers kill his uncle in the past, and suddenly seeking out where Derek lives. . .

The loft had been left empty, and Derek still hadn't changed his address from the Hale house. He hasn't stepped out of his own house for weeks, so his scent around the town would be pretty hard to catch. How Peter found him in the first place is a mystery.

When he's back at the sofa, Peter actually seats himself right next to Derek. He supposes it must be the need to scent his only beta. He knows how it feels like, to be resisting the pull of claiming their pack members even though every cell in his body was screaming at him to do so. And it's not like he doesn't want to scent his new alpha back. It's just that he's still going with the wary road, just to be on the safe side.

''Tell me what happened while I was gone. Everything that happened.''

Derek narrows his eyes. ''Uncle Peter. . .'' He starts, but Peter lifts his hands in surrender. ''I get it nephew. It will be hard for you to forgive me so easily for everything, which, by the way, trying to kill me? Watching by as your ragtag team of wolves gleefully set me on fire? You're forgiven. I get your viewpoint on that and I would have done the same thing had I been in your shoes.''

Something lifts from his shoulders then, a rock that had been weighing down his heart and conscious, and Derek slumps partly in relief. Peter continues, his gaze softening, ''I will protect this pup, Derek. And I will protect you. Take as long as you like, be tentative, blah blah blah, get to know each other again. But I swear to you, Derek Sebastian Hale, I would end my life for you and this precious bundle you're carrying, and so help me God if anything happens to you while you take your distance, I will spank you like I did back when you first almost nose dived into that gully when you were six.''

Derek winces a little at the memory. He sighs, a tiny huff of air. ''I just don't understand where all of this is coming from,'' he says quietly. ''It's not like you suddenly got an epiphany of wanting to reconcile with me. So what happened with you?''

Peter shrugs carelessly. ''I met a man in Utah. Let's just say that he opened my eyes in a way that makes me seem like had been blind up until that moment. When I came back to Beacon Hills, I of course, went to look for you first. You had moved out of your loft however and it took me three hours to find this house. I'm impressed.''

''Shut up.''

Smirking, his uncle continues. ''I was supposed to pop up and give you a greeting, see how you felt about seeing my face after so long. And then, well.'' His eyes track back to Derek's belly. Derek covers it with his hands, and Peter's face is nothing but utter wonder and amazement.

''It's not like I could just leave after finding out you were expecting. And looking like you could be savagely murdered by a yard squirrel.''

The image makes Derek snort a little, and his uncle's mouth twists up. Then the alpha's expression sobers and he asks with utter seriousness, ''What happened?''

Derek slumps back against the cushions. ''It's a long story,'' he says and rubs one hand down his face.

''Well, I've got nothing but time here, dearest.''

''I can't get you to back off, can I?''

''Not a chance. As your alpha, I need to do all I can to ensure your safety. And the pup's.''

So Derek does. It's easy, laying his heart out. Peter is a good listener, always managing to hum in the right places. Different emotions filter through his face as he takes in the miserable story that is Derek's life, and then ends in irritation at the end where he says Stiles had promised to come again today.

''I knew I shouldn't have bitten Scott. Just a little bit more to the right and I could've had Stiles. A candidate hundred times better than the McCall kid.''

''I won't disagree with you there,'' Derek says, and Peter ruffles his hair.

''Well,'' his uncle says, ''I promise I won't outright kill Scott but. . . I'll make sure his life is a little bit more difficult from now on.''

''Please don't. He was a teenager when he was roped into all of this. It's not exactly his fault for reacting the way he did. Or the way he acts now. He's just a victim to his surroundings.''

''Yes, I wont deny that,'' Peter says archly, ''But he's grown since then. Hasn't matured as much as I hope, but he has gotten more years on him. And compared to your little boyfriend here, Scott has failed spectacularly in many, many ways. In fact, comparing these two idiots, the one is a lesser idiot, and the other a total buffoon. A selfish dumbass that more often than not fumbles into the right answer.''

Well. There's not much to say to that. Peter doesn't even seem to be seeking a reply to it, because he just continues.

''Even to this day he rejects being a werewolf. Wanting a normal life. This _is_ normal life. Why can't he embrace it like everyone else in his ragtag team of a pack? Honestly,'' his uncle tsks. ''A waste of bite, that idiot is.''

''I don't think you're being entirely fair to him here, but you know, I do agree with you in some points. Thank God Stiles knows how to fully invest himself in something he loves. Otherwise we'd probably all be dead in a ditch somewhere.''

''Probably,'' his uncle agrees, and then claps his hands. ''Well well. Speak of the devil.''

Derek looks up in confusion, but it clears when he hears Stiles' Jeep rumble down the street. Jesus, it's barely six am and the man is already out of bed. Talk about a miracle.

Back when they were dating, Stiles wouldn't voluntarily wake up before eleven unless you bribed him with either sex, food or a massage. Going to the farmers market on Sundays were always a bit of a hassle to get in time to.

''Be nice,'' Derek warns, and Peter waves him off. ''Yes, I will, after I tell him what I think of his actions towards you. Be right back.''

''Uncle Peter!''

But the man is already out of the door and outside. Stiles' Jeep screeches to a halt, and Derek can almost imagine the comical horror that must be painted on his boyfriend's face. Grumbling, he gets up from the sofa and hurries after his uncle and to rescue Stiles.

''Good morning,'' Peter greets Stiles placidly. The younger man is frozen in horror, before he gets his wits back to himself and starts frowning murderously.

_''What did you do?''_ Stiles snarls. He climbs out of his jeep, slamming the door with more force than necessary and starts stalking towards Peter. ''Did you hurt Derek? I swear to God Peter, I will molotov cocktail you out of this earth so fast your pants will catch on fire - ''

''I'm fine Stiles,'' Derek interrupts. Stiles head whips to him where he stands leaning against the doorway and his shoulders slump in relief. ''Oh thank God. I didn't want my Sunday to begin with a murder and a need to dig a hole deep enough that Peter won't be able to crawl back from.'' He frowns. ''This time.'

''Now now,'' Peter says, amused. ''Don't be so harsh. People can change.''

Stiles snorts unattractively. ''Yeah. But you're not people.''

''And neither are you,'' Peter counters. Stiles stops right in front of the older werewolf and eyes him up and down suspiciously before turning to Derek. ''What is he doing here? Also should you be out of bed? I for sure thought you were going to be sleeping still.''

Derek shrugs. ''Couldn't sleep.''

''And as for me,'' Peter says, crowding into Stiles' space, ''am here for my nephew. Which I heard you haven't treated all that well. Care to explain yourself, or do I have forcibly remove you from the premises? Or perhaps torture the information out of you? Any of those three options I'm happy to execute.''

''Whoah!'' Stiles takes a step back, recoiling from the werewolf. ''What the fuck's it to you? Like you have been a saint to this earth. I do not answer to you, and what me and Derek have going on is none of your business,'' Stiles fires back.

''Oh, but I think it is. You see, I have come back to claim my territory. That,'' Peter flashes his eyes at Stiles, ''means I have the right to protect my pack. And Derek is my pack. If you or anyone else poses a threat to his wellbeing, I can guarantee you that I will not hesitate to retaliate.''

Stiles glances at Derek, his eyes full of concern. ''Derek?'' he says, still taking a step back from Peter who follows him relentlessly.

Derek sighs. ''Stop it uncle Peter,'' he says. ''Stiles is my mate, the father of this child and. . . And part my anchor. So I - I'd appreciate if you stopped threatening him and treated him with respect.''

''Like he did to you, hm?'' Peter scoffs. Stiles actually flinches away, knowing exactly what Peter is about to refer to. ''He listened to you attentively, took all your calls, made sure you were fine when you found out about the pregnancy, gave you the respect and space, and _believed_ you when others were against everything you did.''

 ''That's rather hypocritical of you, uncle. Actually, that would be pretty hypocritical of me, seeing as my Alpha days were filled with nothing but desperation and instincts, which led to the death of two. . . Three teenagers. Did I listen to them? Did I comfort them? Did I heed to their every need?'' He shakes his head, gritting his teeth against the slump in his throat that he had just gotten rid of.

''No. But I didn't have the chance to repent. Didn't have the chance to make rights wrong. And I - I want to give Stiles a chance. _Us_ a chance. So please, Peter. Don't. Just. Don't.''

 Peter does stop. When Stiles takes another step away, Peter doesn't follow. Instead, his eyes are fixed on Derek's ducked gaze, the way he's holding himself, unconsciously showing his vulnerability. ''The deaths of those teenagers are not yours to carry, nephew.''

Derek's head snaps up and he looks from Stiles to his uncle. Peter shakes his head sadly. ''You tried to do what was right. You were scared, pup - '' Stiles' eyes widen comically at the affectionate name - ''and just lost your alpha. You were never meant to be one. You know why?''

Derek shakes his head. Peter nods, his mouth slowly curving to a smile, ''Because you are soft. Too soft. There isn't a hardness in you that is required for a strong leader. You would never be able to do the kind of decisions an alpha has to. And you didn't. But your mistakes, the errors which you made are not because you are a bad person. They happened because you were not able to hold the pieces like an alpha has to. You didn't have a left hand. You didn't have a mediator, an emissary, didn't have the strong ties and alliances with other packs. It was just you and three other teenagers that were just as scared as you. You were the bud of a pack, the start of a bloom that was trampled before it got to rise and grow. Lousy circumstances, never ending threats and one omega that refused to do anything you said and one human that was a so-so at fighting.''

''Hey,'' Stiles grumbles weakly without heat. 

 Peter gives him a glance but steers right back to Derek. ''As a beta, you are marvelous. Loyal, devoted and trustworthy. We all have places in this world, and yours, it seems, is to be guided and treasured, and I hope, for the sake of your happiness, that's exactly what our little spark here is going to do.''

''Wow,'' Stiles says, ''Never begged you for a poet.''

Peter flashes his eyes again, and this time Stiles pays attention to the color. ''Holy _shit_ ,'' he whispers, ''You're an alpha again?''

This time Peter actually rolls his eyes in exasperation. ''Really, Stiles? It took you this long to figure it out?''

''Hey now, if I knew I was going to be given a monologue from the ex-villain I'd probably have paid attention. You know what I do when bad dudes start to ramble on and on about their accomplishments and how they got their evil powers? I shut my ears and plan ahead.''

Peter quirks an eyebrow and points at Stiles while looking at Derek. ''See? A much better candidate.''

Derek huffs, his heart squeezing a little painfully in his chest from Peter's speech. He'd never thought of things that way, but. . . It's true. He never wanted to be the leader, content at following orders and being a backup. And as things stand, as long as Peter's intentions and care is genuine, he hopes he'll stay a beta for the rest of his life.

''Are you done?'' he asks. ''Because I'm getting cold, and it smells like it's going to rain soon so I'm going in.''

''I'm coming too,'' Stiles says, and forces himself inside before Peter can refute. He toes his sneakers off before he slaps himself on his cheek. ''Oh, fuck me. Peter,'' Stiles turns and gives Derek space to move past and holds his Jeep's keys to the werewolf. ''There are groceries in the back. Get them in.''

''And what makes you think I take orders from a brat?''

Stiles blinks. ''Because they're for Derek and not me. And Derek needs his Stiles cuddles, so.''

''I do,'' Derek says quickly. Because he does. He's itching to hold Stiles, to feel his warmth, his heartbeat against his own. He knows it has to be a wolf thing because the second Stiles is in his immediate vicinity, he feels a lot better. Stronger. 

''Also,'' Stiles says, warning glint in his eyes. ''Do not do anything to Roscoe. If you do as much as scratch the paint or the seats, I'm gonna make your life miserable. You have no idea how well aconite works as a laxative in small amounts in food. You've been warned.''

Peter lets out a put upon sigh but does as he's told.

Never mind that Derek thinks Stiles is kind of hot, asserting his dominance. Even if it's against his alpha, which makes him feel slightly guilty. But only slightly. Peter can be such an asshole.

Cuddling on the sofa turns out to be a good idea. The couch is wide enough for two people to sit sideways so that they're embracing each other. It's close to the toilet if Derek needs to go, and the way Stiles wraps his long limbs around Derek to ensure he won't fall makes him feel really good. He doesn't even grumble a protest when Peter comes in, dragging four plastic bags of food with him, and comes to cover the lovebirds with a thick quilt. 

Derek can smell the apprehension and slight guilt from Peter. He ignores it though, not certain what he himself smells like, because he can't for the life of him even decide what he should be feeling and what he _does_ feel. It's all just a jumble of emotions he's too tired to parse through.

And maybe that's alright for now.

 Derek dozes off while Stiles cards fingers through his hair, the television playing muted in the background for Stiles to watch. Peter putters around the kitchen, banging the cupboards as he places the bought things in their respective places. There's a quiet to the house that isn't still or cold. The heartbeats that stagger in and out of rhythm with each other are comforting, even his pup's heart sounding stronger. Like they too, want to stay in unity with everyone else. Be heard.

''Derek?'' Stiles whispers, and Derek makes a small sound at the back of his throat. ''I really am sorry. For everything that I did and for the things that I didn't do, in order to hurt you. I hope we could talk sometime. Like. Properly parse through this, so we can start from a clean slate. I - I'd hate for our parenthood, our relationship to be founded on this stupid thing that I fucked up. I'll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me, okay? And like I said yesterday, you can take all the time you need. Just. . . Just please, forgive me one day, okay? Not tomorrow, or next week, but. One day?''

Burying his face into Stiles' warm tummy, Derek nods. 

''And I'd really like to talk about how the fuck Peter got his alpha powers back. But, not like right now. Like, maybe when he's not around?''

Derek hears Peter snort in the kitchen. Then his uncle says, loud enough for Stiles' ears, ''I didn't kill anyone for these powers. And that's all you have to know.''

''Creep,'' Stiles mutters, amusing Derek endlessly.

 There's something warm and content spreading through Derek's body, and he relaxes fully. The smell of cucumber and carrots being chopped makes him rumble pleasantly, and when Stiles' scent goes from wary to affectionate and fond, Derek lets the sleep and exhaust finally pull him down into a deep slumber.

Because he knows that when he wakes up, he's still going to be surrounded by these people. He's still going to be tired and cranky and grumpy, but his alpha, and God, he has an _alpha_ now, and his mate, his partner, the father of their cub are still going to be by his side. The small hope that flared with the arrival of Stiles just last night burrows closer and blooms in his chest, making him believe that maybe his days of suffering are finally going to be over.

The baby's heartbeat is steady, and Derek rests his hands on his belly, snuggling closer to Stiles. The man's caressing hands finally guide him into the rest he so desperately needs.

 

 


End file.
